Dearly Beloved, Grace and Peace to you. . .
The smallest thing— a splurge of purple on a blooming branch, a child's untranslated cry, the shuffle of a bird in flight through the ribs of a parking garage, the weight of your body, or an empty space you stare into— any small thing might be a burning bush, a divine murmur, an open door to stumble through, a barbed lure cast slyly from heaven, an offer to behold what you would overlook in the thundering cataract of the senses, an invitation to fall into the gaze of the One who looks out from you into this world. The flame of a candle, or an unlit candle, or a place where a candle could have been once holds the Word on the tip of its tongue.
All you have to do is listen. When you see the glint, hear the bell, or enter into the shadow, make space, be still, and ponder.
So much in the world within awaits your attention before flooding into this one.
Open the window. Dodge the language, shed the words, and stay in the gaze of the bloom or the branch, where you slip through the eye of the moment into eternity, through the silence into what the silence is telling you. Enter the temple.
Even as you read this a fly sits in the windowsill, hands folded in prayer.
. . Deep Blessings, Pastor Steve
_______________________________ Copyright © Steve Garnaas-Holmes firstname.lastname@example.org