Sometimes God yells and dances and claps Her hands
But sometimes She quietly whispers hymns through fields of yellow flowers
Just because things aren't happening loudly doesn't mean they aren't happening at all
And I think we've begun to forget that there is power in stillness
There is power in being small
That some days your feet have to stop moving
so that your mind can stop too
I'm convinced that the best medicine is Scripture and a strong cup of coffee
That days spent laying in the grass are not days wasted at all
Quiet revivals can rumble in cafes and countrysides and cathedrals
Volume is not necessarily noise, it's just the amount of space taken up
Maybe we should let Her fill in the silence more often
instead of rushing to do it ourselves
In fact, She's quite skilled at creating something out of nothing
Painting beautiful scenery out of ashes and mud
We've become all too littered with desires and destructive decisions
But when you are seemingly plucked from all that you know
it becomes easier to examine the core of who you are
Maybe we're best when taken out of context
I don't think I'll every truly know what it feels like to be comfortably home
But I can remain comfortable in knowing that there are pieces of Home all over this Earth
Reflections of a God that is unfathomably vast
I'm grateful that we're never expected to bear Her image alone
If you listen hard enough, you'll hear the footsteps of brave people
walking down cobblestone streets
Fountains catching coins and laughing at silly wishes
secretly hoping that they will come true
First dates and first prayers and first times for everything
You'll hear children's laughter breaking down barriers
And directions given to strangers
I'm grateful that "Hallelujah" is the same in every language
No comments:
Post a Comment