Hours earlier, these droplets formed out of the morning mist. Settled here, they endow even greater beauty to an already beautiful image of God’s presence in nature’s cathedral. On this altar, these droplets are separate, yet from and of the same substance. The same essence. They will, hours from now, be transformed, imperceptibly, still theContinue reading “Angels In the Mist”
When the wind whistles through my helmet, I sometimes hear whispers mixed into it.
“There’s something happening here. What it is ain’t exactly clear.” Except to the child-mind and -heart
I like that wording more than, “I am loved,” or, “I am loved by God,” or even, “God loves me.” Feels more intimate, breathing with aliveness. “Am being.”