The God who made the world and all things in it, since He is Lord of heaven and earth, does not dwell in temples made with hands; nor is He served by human hands, as though He needed anything, since He Himself gives to all people life and breath and all things; and He made from one man every nation of mankind to live on all the face of the earth, having determined their appointed times and the boundaries of their habitation, that they would seek God, if perhaps they might grope for Him and find Him, though He is not far from each one of us; Acts 17:24-27
From little morning chore to little morning chore. That’s where I find Him. In the flat times too, when the air is still and the earth holds her breath, He comes to breathe life through His words, which I pick up first thing; Looking for hope in between its pages, I find it.
Poets might die, but the words always live on.
I wait here, in the Holy moment before life rushes around me on the bench by the garden as the shade pulls away slowly to reveal the scorch that is sure to come. I watch as the lone bee settles on the tomato blossom……doing what God made him to do.
The doves hover, waiting for the fountain and I marvel at the white stripes patterned on their wings as they fly off. Once again, I think that He has truly made it all good, as bad as this old world might seem as it groans on its axis along with us.
A new TV series called “Mistresses” would have been considered porn not long ago. And Dr. Phil is turning “Springer” with mediums and numerologists leading tearful, grieving people astray.
When someone tells you to consult mediums and spiritists, who whisper and mutter, should not a people inquire of their God? Why consult the dead on behalf of the living? Isaiah 8:19
It’s not wrong for them to want hope.
Meanwhile poets die, but the words always live on.
Hope is here.
He never left.
Meanwhile, the heat will not be deterred.
The desert settles in for the long haul, and so do God and I. Inside and outside of time,
we wait together.
RIP: Maya Angelou