Several years ago I sat on a moss-laden boulder wedged in the soil high above the river streaming through the valley below — a stream set in purpose, a stream of life, a stream of beauty even as it flowed over broken branches and places filled with jagged rocks.
It flowed steady.
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Lord, You are our sure place, our constant heartbeat in an unsure world. You are faithful. You are trustworthy.
You are God.
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Passion flowed from his lips. Anguish. Desperation. Desire to evoke change.
Behind him throngs of multi-colored skin shouted. Some cried. Some clung to each other for courage as the amber glow of flames lit up the night sky while blasts of tear gas exploded and the harsh pops of firecrackers sprinkled more anger in the darkness of the city streets.
But this young man — he touched my heart.
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Lord, You are God of all Creation, the Sovereign Lord, Almighty King. You hung the stars in place. You counted the grains of sand.
You made me Your child.
I don’t want to wrestle with You about my circumstances, and yet I do!
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My geranium sat neglected. Difficult life circumstances had taken priority and now the once lush and bountiful geranium looked … sad. Yellowed leaves edged in crumbly brown. Flowers, once plentiful, now barely raised their heads in search of their missing container-mates.
The soil had become crusty. Hard. Void of life-sustaining nutrients.
Much like a child of God finding herself in a desert wilderness at the base of the mountain, rather than soaring from its peak.
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