This morning was veiled in ivory fog, lasting into soft hours.
With some gifted time, I folded my legs on the couch of the back porch, put pencil to paper, and even opened Scripture without provocation. A tough confession – this was the first time in a while the brown leather binding was creased ajar in order that I could sip the words He has for me.
Yet before these, I found myself slipping into something I save for rare occasions in nature and in silent spaces: I quietly sang praises to the mist. I have vivid, specific memories of sitting on bare rock, with no other sound save the sifting of wind through leaves and the fluttering of birdsong. Colorado, Vermont, Rhode Island, camping trips and early mornings. I find my soul bubbling in the “Nature Meetings” where it’s me and Him. Our place. My favorite basins of peace.
|Taken at Rockport, MA, last fall.|
There are more songs
There is more. There is sunrise. There are moments of peace that stay with us. May I nourish myself on them. May I consume the living water. May I rejoice in the lifting up of praise, to the One who lifts me up from the pit.