Season of the Dreamer

I'm sure most of us notice the signs of the coming season - some more than others - depending on where we live. Here in California, it's the season that's just beginning to peak through the clouds and reveal its spindly branches. It's not the Christmas or Holiday season, though that is its shining feature. It's the season of Winter and all that it carries with it. I saw a sky like this one pictured, a few Winters ago, and it caused me to notice other beautiful new things all around me. More than the clouds taking shape in the sky, I saw that nature was starting to change its own decor the way we deck our halls. Around here one has to look for these changes a little more closely. It's subtle. It doesn't come pouring down from Heaven in snowy white splendor. 

This is a special time of year in which so many cultures celebrate light. How fitting. We miss those long bright days on the darkest ones. Now that we're almost upon that shortest and darkest day of the year, I think it's good to think about the metaphor we are presented with. (The sun is down by 5 o'clock now. So we have the time.) We experience this cycle of life in every stage: night and day, Summer and Winter, life and death, waking and sleeping. So here were are in the evening, knowing that morning is on the other side of the hill and Spring is around the corner. Let's light some candles, sing a lullaby or a Christmas carol, and watch the lights twinkle upon the trees. 

We must then remember that we're not the ones changing out these decorations, or making the sun go up or down. We are a special feature in this scenery, spectators to a majesty we cannot conceive, the objects of a creator's dream. It's just too beautiful and orderly for me to think of it any other way. Let's enjoy this season in humble wonder, as we are the dear children being tucked into bed. I hope that when we close our eyes, we can all rest assured that we know the one watching over us.

Dream of Winter

Rippled opaline sky,
burning with silver,
we are painted you and I,
by the One who dreamed of Winter.

Chiseled amethyst limbs,
brushed with sterling,
we are painted by His sky,
in the low color of seasons turning.

Dappled jet lane,
gilded with light,
we are glittered you and I,
by the One slowly dimming the light.

::

"Look deep into nature, and then you will understand everything better."
- Albert Einstein

"Whoever wants to know something about me – as an artist which alone is significant – they should look attentively at my pictures and there seek to recognize what I am and what I want."
- Gustav Klimt 

"Have you ever commanded the morning to appear
    and caused the dawn to rise in the east?
Have you made daylight spread to the ends of the earth,
    to bring an end to the night’s wickedness?
As the light approaches,
    the earth takes shape like clay pressed beneath a seal;
    it is robed in brilliant colors."
- God to Job, Job 12-14 

“Where does light come from,
    and where does darkness go?
Can you take each to its home?
    Do you know how to get there?
But of course you know all this!
For you were born before it was all created,
    and you are so very experienced!"
“Have you visited the storehouses of the snow
    or seen the storehouses of hail?
²³ (I have reserved them as weapons for the time of trouble,
    for the day of battle and war.)
²⁴ Where is the path to the source of light?
    Where is the home of the east wind?"
- God to Job, Job 19-24 

In peace I will lie down and sleep,
    for you alone, O Lord, will keep me safe."
- Psalm 4:8

Your Gift To Bring

Little Drummer Boy 2009 Jon Baldwin Art

What do our lives spell out - for the people around us, for the generations that will remember us? Do they spell out something that can reach beyond us and make a difference in those lives? Our lives, especially when summed up at the end, will be a tribute to something, to someone - an accomplishment, a contribution, a cause, a God.

Maybe you feel you have nothing to contribute. Well, maybe this will help. I volunteered to sing with some other women at an event at church. Before the event, I was a little bit of a wreck. Upon expressing how insecure I was about my abilities, my friend Sue, replied, "Just think of the Little Drummer Boy." That helped me. So no matter how meager, this is "my gift to bring".

What is your gift to bring? What is your tribute? And who is it to?

::

My Tribute

This is my cathedral,
scribbled lines like climbing spires,
crying out like a mouth of marble,
dear Lord, hear our prayers.

This is my cry in the wilderness,
a love letter like an echo,
a messenger in the darkness,
dying before it will let go.

This is my sacrifice,
a song like a broken heart,
praising God in the highest,
from a wrinkled paper altar.

::

tribute
- a gift, testimonial, compliment, or the like, given as due or in acknowledgment of gratitude or esteem.
 

The Sweet Harvest

First Picasso, now Van Gogh. I know. But they're famous for a reason. I read that this amazing piece was painted toward the end of Van Gogh's life, as he looked at death more closely. I always hoped that he was looking at this wheat field, at the final harvest, so to speak, through the parables of Jesus. I also read that he knew those parables. That's encouraging to me, but what a burden of work he had built up by the end of his life. I hope he had a place to lay that burden down and know his life's work would not be for nothing.

We all hope to see the fruit of our labor. But all the things we work so hard for will one day be gone, as will we, unless what we sow is seed sown into a higher field, a greater kingdom, a place that never fades away, a place that receives its harvest like a mother receives her children. Do you ever just feel like going home? Well, let's go. And let's tell everyone where we're going, shining with hope, like children who miss their home. Let's overflow the mighty and loving arms of the God who first sowed us in the fruitful earth.

Power and Light

Small bud of wheat,
you sway glowing among a million,
a bulb of light and heat,
to highlight the hillside kingdom.

Your purpose is forever sweet,
even into the night,
by the rays of a lowering sun,
kissing you golden
with life.

::


Jesus also said, “The Kingdom of God is like a farmer who scatters seed on the ground.  Night and day, while he’s asleep or awake, the seed sprouts and grows, but he does not understand how it happens.  The earth produces the crops on its own. First a leaf blade pushes through, then the heads of wheat are formed, and finally the grain ripens.  And as soon as the grain is ready, the farmer comes and harvests it with a sickle, for the harvest time has come.”
- Mark 4:26-29 NLT

Day

This Is The Day

You are the Morning Star,
the true light of the whole world,
yet within my shadowy little soul,
my four walls and a window,
you are the gentle light falling in,
spreading slowly along the corners,
highlighting the shapes of things,
casting a merciful light upon me,
I need only pull back the shade,
let in the light of your day,
and be glad
in the new life you have made.

::

This is the day the Lord has made.
    We will rejoice and be glad in it.
Please, Lord, please save us.
    Please, Lord, please give us success. 
Bless the one who comes in the name of the Lord.
    We bless you from the house of the Lord. 
The Lord is God, shining upon us.
    Take the sacrifice and bind it with cords on the altar. 
You are my God, and I will praise you!
    You are my God, and I will exalt you!

Give thanks to the Lord, for he is good!
    His faithful love endures forever.

- Psalm 118:24-29

But you aren’t in the dark about these things, dear brothers and sisters, and you won’t be surprised when the day of the Lord comes like a thief. For you are all children of the light and of the day; we don’t belong to darkness and night. So be on your guard, not asleep like the others. Stay alert and be clearheaded.

- 1 Thessalonians 5:4-7 

The steadfast love of the Lord never ceases;
    his mercies never come to an end; 
they are new every morning;
    great is your faithfulness.

- Lamentations 3:22-23 

Write Your Name In The Air

In this interesting post I found, Light Writing With Picasso, by Jared Ragland, we're given a little peak into the revolutionary work of photographer, Gjon Mili, and an artist named Pablo Picasso, from 1949. These photographs inspire me and draw their own burning question within me -

Pablo Picasso light drawing. Photo by Gjon Mili.

Who is taking our picture? These photos of Pablo Picasso creating art with a little flashlight have always amazed me. But unlike the beautiful image that gets burned into that film or ultimately read into a hard drive, where do we find the man behind it now? We make our mark in this world, but for what, for who, and for how long? I hope when you smile for your picture, when you sign your name upon the fading page of your life, that you will know the name of the Photographer, your Keeper, the Name above all other names. Philippians 2:9,10

Smile

Write your name in the sand,
little man.
Write your name in the sand.
Spin your sparkler in the air.
Make your art blaze -
then disappear.
You’ll be blessed if you capture
what Picasso could.
We’ll be blessed if we get captured.
The air always swallows up the light.
The tide sweeps in like the night.
Flash your face to the sky,
little child,
and smile.

::

How do you know what your life will be like tomorrow? Your life is like the morning fog—it’s here a little while, then it’s gone.
- James 4:14

What is mankind that you are mindful of them,
human beings that you care for them?
You have made them a little lower than the angels and crowned them
with glory and honor.You made them rulers over the works of your hands;
- Psalm 8:4-6

Dear November

Life is short. Play in the leaves...

Oh November,
how you swung me off to bed,
swirled me softly
like a furled leaf falling,
then tossed me to the quilt & said,
"Dance with me
until it's too dark to see.
Grow old, red and gold with me,
in a sea of leaves,
up to our knees,
and I'll give you Winter
to rest your head."

Take Heart

Take heart,
little corner of the world,
tiny window in the night.
Save your dreams
beneath your pillow
and your faith
in a heart small and bright.

::

I have told you all this so that you may have peace in me. Here on earth you will have many trials and sorrows. But take heart, because I have overcome the world.

- Jesus,  John 16:33

The Psalm of Our Hearts

Do you remember someone singing to you when you were small? I am so blessed with memories of my mother singing me to sleep at night. I still know the lullabies she sang to me. Does your heart know its Psalmist? Does it know the love that is its eternal fortress? King David knew the sweet songs of his father in the solitude of grazing pastures. This life is fading away, but I believe what the writers and singers of the Psalms believed, what poets like Henry Wadsworth Longfellow believed. There is a love, a song, that endures the passing of life, and a father who never forgets his little ones.

I originally began writing this poem for my daughter when she started growing out of my lap, but I soon realized it was more a poem about me, and all of us, growing out of the lap of God.

When You Were Small

When you were small,
when your whole belly fit inside my palm,
when your home was in my lap,
and my arms were your refuge,
and your little crown of curls
fit perfectly beneath my chin,
oh child dearly loved,
I knew no garden,
no kingdom,
no embrace
could keep you in.
So I had to let you go
and go you did.
But just return to me,
call for me,
and I will hear.
I’ll reach for you,
I’ll die for you,
I’ll make the world disappear.
Fall into my arms
even as you die,
and know my love,
everlasting,
like your first lullaby.

::

God is our refuge and strength,
    an ever-present help in trouble. 

Therefore we will not fear, though the earth give way
    and the mountains fall into the heart of the sea, 

though its waters roar and foam
    and the mountains quake with their surging.

...The Lord Almighty is with us;
    the God of Jacob is our fortress. 

- Psalm 46:1-3,7

...I have you fast in my fortress,
And will not let you depart,
But put you down into the dungeon
In the round-tower of my heart.

And there will I keep you forever,
Yes, forever and a day,
Till the walls shall crumble to ruin,
And moulder in dust away!

- The Children's Hour, Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

My Hand Upon My Mouth

If you're at all like me, you have a wavering self-image that sways from one extreme to another, depending on your circumstance and surroundings. One day you're unique and special to the point of egotism, and another day, shaken to reality to the point of believing you're no more than a speck on the map, a brick in the wall. We just can't see clearly. We can't see ourselves within the scope of the whole world, let alone God's universe. 

I love that as we waver, as we float in and out of the picture, one man stands there, the same, yesterday, today, and tomorrow. And not only is he standing there, but he made everything on which you stand, on which you place all your trust. If you doubt it, just ask him.

Or read the book of Job. Wow. I'm thankful for our pastor's message on Job yesterday. Like he said, it's like jumping into the deep end of the Bible. But I can't wait for Psalms. I think that book is going to feel like God's strong right arm pulling me out of the deep water. As it should, right?
You can listen to what my pastor, Tim Theule, had to say about it here.

My own words are here about what God had to say to Job. The words were heavy on my heart. And the irony of it isn't lost on me.

My Hand Upon My Mouth 

Let me place my hand upon my mouth
like a little stone upon my grave
and let it read
no thing about me
but only the life that you gave.

Let me place my hand in your hand
like the little child you dearly love
and let me say
nothing, and stay
in the presence of my dear Lord.

::

“Behold, I am insignificant; what can I reply to You?
I lay my hand on my mouth.
“Once I have spoken, and I will not answer;
Even twice, and I will add nothing more.”

- Job 40:4-5

Surely goodness and lovingkindness will follow me all the days of my life,
And I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever.

- Psalm 23:6 

Untangle Me

In your life, do you ever feel like you're trying to untie a knot? My favorite is the tiny knot on the chain of a necklace. It requires an amazing amount of focus and patience, and I always consider just leaving it... But something in me usually perseveres and I find a line that seems to pull free and start the whole thing unraveling. This week, I felt like I was that little knot and God was my patient and persevering savior - patiently undoing my tangled mess of thoughts, tasks, and worries. Thank you, my Rescuer...

Untangle me,
pull my loops that undo,
find some straight line in me,
unwind it,
unbind me,
pull me through.
Then lay me down,
drape me around,
your strong neck,
and hang me true.

::

The Lord is close to all who call on him,
    yes, to all who call on him in truth. 
He grants the desires of those who fear him;
    he hears their cries for help and rescues them.
 
- Psalm 145:18-19

The Long Lost Love

I wanted to make a list of all the lost things,
a catalog of details, dedications, and perfect leaves.
The bees humming, blankets rustling, feathers ruffling in the trees,
the shadows, shape, and silhouette,
warm hands, soft laughs, and ways we forget,
the days that danced before they laid down to rest.

Oh, but what will become of your precious gaze?
I'll do my best to hold it with the words I can save,
but, oh my dear, you will die upon this page.
Your eyes of amber that so captured me,
the depth of your heart and the strength of its beat
leave only a ghost print - still, grey, and weak.

So please, let me take you and keep you,
let me paint you brightly upon my heart,
let your arms burn around me like the first day,
before the last day draws them apart.

Let me love you like my long lost love,
who vanishes on the voyage at sea,
all the while keeping lit within my breast
the love that first drew you to me.

Quiet Please

Do you know the still small voice of your God? Have you taken the time to just think about him, talk to him? Life in this world will clutter us and drown us in to-do lists if we don't sweep off a space for what's eternally real and true. Now don't just listen to any voice, especially your own. The steady eternal truth comes out of written words that have not wavered for thousands of years. You were born with a word, with a command of life. Find your way back to the one who spoke it.

I used to have afternoons,
hours of thoughts like pages strewn,
long and quiet talks - with you.  
Now it seems I only pass these rooms,
layering the hallway with a longing tune,
"I'm coming, I'm coming," but Lord, you are, too.  
Oh come - and stop me in these tracks,
show me the quiet and narrow way back,

along the pages you first spoke through.


I found this scripture below about Elijah the prophet, who heard God's voice. I like how in the midst of fear and chaos and exhaustion, Elijah heard God's quiet whisper while hiding away in a secluded cave. God spoke to him, gave him direction, and told him to go back to the work He had for him. Read the whole story if you can. There's a lot more to it. It's amazing.

When Elijah heard the quiet voice, he muffled his face with his great cloak, went to the mouth of the cave, and stood there. A quiet voice asked, “So Elijah, now tell me, what are you doing here?” Elijah said it again, “I’ve been working my heart out for God, the God-of-the-Angel-Armies, because the people of Israel have abandoned your covenant, destroyed your places of worship, and murdered your prophets. I’m the only one left, and now they’re trying to kill me.”
God said, “Go back the way you came through the desert to Damascus. 

- 1 Kings 19:13-14  The Message Bible

Unintended Ode to the Unknown God

Unintended Ode to the Unknown God

The force of humanity
was a press from his fingertip,
a breath through his lips,
and here we are, alive,
without understanding why.
Isn't that just like us,
to have it,
and have it wrong?
- passing the very face of God each day,
mistaking it for our own reflection,
walking in his elegance,
speaking his words after him,
as if our own thoughts.
What do you see in the formula,
if not the genius of the mathematician?
What do you hear in the masterpiece,
but the heart of its own musician?
Oh how we miss you,
your long lost children,
and can't even remember your likeness.
But with our own little hands,
we've been trying to piece together
an assemblage of your loving face,
like trying to recall a lullaby long forgotten.
But, God save us,
nothing we make looks back at us,
or hears the longing of our hearts,
or speaks the soft words we yearn to hear.
They do things very similar,
but nothing outside our handwritten plans.
They are every kind of wonderful version of you,
all except the one.
What a magnificent menagerie we've made,
an unintended ode to the unknown god,
spinning like a mobile around our heads,
soothing us to sleep each night,
in place of the one we so dearly miss.

::

The apostle Paul makes this plea to the high council in Athens -

...for as I was walking along I saw your many shrines. And one of your altars had this inscription on it: ‘To an Unknown God.’ This God, whom you worship without knowing, is the one I’m telling you about.
“He is the God who made the world and everything in it. Since he is Lord of heaven and earth, he doesn’t live in man-made temples, and human hands can’t serve his needs—for he has no needs. He himself gives life and breath to everything, and he satisfies every need. From one man he created all the nations throughout the whole earth. He decided beforehand when they should rise and fall, and he determined their boundaries.
“His purpose was for the nations to seek after God and perhaps feel their way toward him and find him—though he is not far from any one of us. For in him we live and move and exist. As some of your own poets have said, ‘We are his offspring.’

- Acts 17:23-28

The Secret Admirer

We all have a loving admirer. We long for this love for a reason. We were made for it and for a world more lovely than this one. This life can only deliver the promise. Find out who your true admirer is. 

He's waiting for you.


The Secret Admirer

How lovely 
to receive a love letter
or be adored
discreetly from afar.
Dear God,
where is my admirer
or the serenader
with his guitar?

Rest your heart, my dear,
and listen.
My heart sings to you
from leafy balconies.
I throw you flowers
every season,
whispering, "how I love you",
with the breeze.

Be patient, my love,
and wait.
The little children
will carry my letters.
The smiles they deliver
are my own,
for no own knows
my joy better.

Close your eyes, my child,
and believe.
I am sending for you,
just as I've written.
Now follow the narrow path
no one can see,
through the small gate,
into the Kingdom I have hidden.

 

Fashionably Late

Fall usually prefers to be fashionably late in California, just like everyone else here, I guess. Even later along the coast. Of course. When she finally arrives, she'll still get a warm welcome. 

It's fun to talk about. I think most of us have our memories wrapped up in the seasons. It's such a love affair. I know each season has its own special meaning and purpose, but if I may... I think they're like elaborate love letters from God - pouring out his majestic undying love for us. I just enjoy seeing it this way. 

This poem personifies Fall in a slightly different way. But oh, how we love you, Autumn, wherever you are.

Hello, Autumn

Well hello, Autumn, peeking through the lilting limbs.

I see your red-gloved hands swinging in the northern winds.

I remember those golden sleeves from under your cloudy coat,
and you, smiling over a flaxen scarf, reveling in the cold.

Then finally in all your glory, you’re paraded, inciting crowds of adoring trees.
They never do forget you, even after your confetti has been swept from the streets.

A Poem As Lovely

The Poem In Front Of Me

There was a poem
right in front of me.
All I had to do
was describe it.
It was made of things
which I cannot conceive.
All I could do
was write it.


If I believe in God, which I do, then what am I doing, ever, but retracing the lines first written, first drawn, first loved by my own creator. There is a lot written about this, but I like how Joyce Kilmer put it. He must have felt the same way when he wrote this poem about a hundred years ago. You've probably heard the first line of this poem many times, but you may not have heard how it ends. I think it eludes to how everything ends.

The verses from the prophet Isaiah, below, put it all into perspective for me. I hope these words help all of us understand the true and greater perspective.


Trees
Joyce Kilmer

I think that I shall never see
A poem lovely as a tree.

A tree whose hungry mouth is prest
Against the earth’s sweet flowing breast;

A tree that looks at God all day,
And lifts her leafy arms to pray;

A tree that may in Summer wear
A nest of robins in her hair;

Upon whose bosom snow has lain;
Who intimately lives with rain.

Poems are made by fools like me,
But only God can make a tree.

::


...Break into song,
O mountains and forests and every tree!
For the Lord has redeemed Jacob
and is glorified in Israel.

This is what the Lord says—
your Redeemer and Creator:
“I am the Lord, who made all things.
I alone stretched out the heavens.
Who was with me
when I made the earth?

I expose the false prophets as liars
and make fools of fortune-tellers.
I cause the wise to give bad advice,
thus proving them to be fools.

- Isaiah 44:23-25

Let's Be Children

Who are we to be known by the creator of the universe? Children, after all. 
The two kings, cited below, understood what it means to be a child or God.

O come to me, great Eternity
for a moment to lie down.
Let's be children
on the floor of the museum,
gazing up at the stars upon your crown.

And would you stay to sing to me
a lullaby short and sweet,
that I might understand,
beneath the stillness of your hand,
the peace known at your feet.

::

You have set your glory
    in the heavens. 

Through the praise of children and infants
    you have established a stronghold against your enemies,
    to silence the foe and the avenger. 

When I consider your heavens,
    the work of your fingers,
the moon and the stars,
    which you have set in place, 

what is mankind that you are mindful of them,
    human beings that you care for them?
You have made them a little lower than the angels
    and crowned them with glory and honor. 
You made them rulers over the works of your hands;
    you put everything under their feet.

- David, Psalm 8:1-6


I thank you, Father, Lord of heaven and earth, that you have hidden these things from the wise and understanding and revealed them to little children; yes, Father, for such was your gracious will. All things have been handed over to me by my Father, and no one knows the Son except the Father, and no one knows the Father except the Son and anyone to whom the Son chooses to reveal him. Come to me, all who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me, for I am gentle and lowly in heart, and you will find rest for your souls.
- Jesus, Matthew 11:25-29 


If anyone loves me, he will keep my word, and my Father will love him, and we will come to him and make our home with him.
- Jesus, John 14:23 


 

The Artist Who Loved Me

We all come to God in our own way, with our own unique perspective. Those responses must be another reflection of God's great creativity in us. I know him as the true father we all long for, but I also see him as the artist who could not part with his work. He could not abandon his masterpiece, his children and the beautiful little home he made for them. Could you? Even in his amazing anger, cursing his own work, he could not be angry forever.
If you're a creator of something you love, or if you're a mother or father, yourself, then you can understand the heart of God a little bit. He may be more passionate, more loving, more amazing, and more like you than you could have ever imagined. The apple doesn't fall far from the tree, as they say.

The Beloved Artist

If this landscape has been cursed
then I can't wait to see the one blessed.
Did you see the shades of its day?
Did you see how its blossoms were dressed?

If this is a painting given to me
so that I may daydream of its promise,
then I will love it to death
and give my heart to its artist.

::

Below are verses describing the great curse and redemption. They explain a lot - if you believe them. Take the scripture link to the whole chapter to continue reading. It's amazing.

...the ground is cursed because of you.
All your life you will struggle to scratch a living from it.
It will grow thorns and thistles for you,
though you will eat of its grains.
By the sweat of your brow
will you have food to eat
until you return to the ground 
from which you were made.
For you were made from dust,
and to dust you will return.

- Genesis 3:17-19


Look! I am creating new heavens and a new earth,
and no one will even think about the old ones anymore.
Be glad; rejoice forever in my creation!And look! I will create Jerusalem as a place of happiness.
Her people will be a source of joy.
I will rejoice over Jerusalem
and delight in my people.
And the sound of weeping and crying
will be heard in it no more.

“No longer will babies die when only a few days old.
No longer will adults die before they have lived a full life.
No longer will people be considered old at one hundred!
Only the cursed will die that young!
In those days people will live in the houses they build
and eat the fruit of their own vineyards.

- Isaiah 65:17-18  


 

Goodbye, Summertime

...until next year... but not to worry. Fall is filled with a love all its own. There are plenty of verses to follow about the season to come.


Summertime, the Bee, and the Heart's Reverie

You whispered to me a fuzzy little tune
about a season that came and went,
and I fear my heart became your rosy bloom,
which I so willingly lent.

You haunted me so sweetly,
fleet and darling ghost flame,
and made me glow so completely
until the next season came.

Do You See Him? Keep Looking.

Do you see him?

These are people who were looking closely, or maybe just listening carefully - Moses, David, and Elizabeth Barrett Browning, just to name a few.

Do you see Browning's reference to Moses' encounter, or to David's revelation? This is one of my favorite pieces of poetry. My own poem is at the very bottom, where it belongs in this sort of company.

Look closely.

…And truly, I reiterate, nothing’s small!

No lily-muffled hum of a summer-bee,

But finds some coupling with the spinning stars;

No pebble at your foot, but proves a sphere;

No chaffinch, but implies the cherubim;

And (glancing on my own thin, veined wrist),

In such a little tremor of the blood

The whole strong clamour of a vehement soul

Doth utter itself distinct. Earth’s crammed with heaven,

And every common bush afire with God;

But only he who sees, takes off his shoes,

The rest sit round it and pluck blackberries,

And daub their natural faces unaware…

-Elizabeth Barrett Browning, Aurora Leigh Book 7

::

There the angel of the Lord appeared to him in a blazing fire from the middle of a bush. Moses stared in amazement. Though the bush was engulfed in flames, it didn’t burn up. “This is amazing,” Moses said to himself. “Why isn’t that bush burning up? I must go see it.”
When the Lord saw Moses coming to take a closer look, God called to him from the middle of the bush, “Moses! Moses!”
“Here I am!” Moses replied.
“Do not come any closer,” the Lord warned. “Take off your sandals, for you are standing on holy ground. I am the God of your father—the God of Abraham, the God of Isaac, and the God of Jacob.”

- Exodus 3:2-6

::
 

 The heavens proclaim the glory of God.
    The skies display his craftsmanship.
 Day after day they continue to speak;
    night after night they make him known. They speak without a sound or word;
    their voice is never heard. Yet their message has gone throughout the earth,
    and their words to all the world.

- Psalm 19:1-4

::

You Let Me See You

God, you let me see you.
I watched you assemble the dusk.
I watched your heart set the treetops aglow
and make fireflies out of the dust.

God, you made me love you
because you were so in love with me.
Your love made the land, the texture of skin,
and the delicate wings of a bee.

God, you let me know you.
You swelled my heart with what you feel.
Your every child fills my tears,
I want to see them all in your sun-setting field.

Lord, I want to be with you.
I want to fall to your ground with the leaves.
I want to fade with the last light of your day
and live in your setting heart eternally.

::

And there is so, so, so much more.  Keep looking.