There was a wide, dusky violet shadow encircling the horizon, rising up into the pink of a clear, fresh sunrise. My heart held it's breath as I remembered how sublime a sunrise is over the mountains. A smile crept over my face as I remembered the comfortable security I always found by looking up. The visible reminder of the majesty of my God. I remember memorizing Psalm 121 and intentionally associating it with any one of the three mountains surrounding my home. In moments of frustration, or anger, or confusion, I couldn't help but look at one of them. And remember.
My help comes from the Lord. It's been a long time since I've seen something like this. Too long. Except that I drive this road every day. Then it hits me.
They aren't mountains. At all. Just clouds. No mountains. Low, poofy, purple clouds. I'm not in Shenandoah country anymore. Nor am I in Kujukushima waters. This is the Mid-West. It's flat. Open. Exposed.
The sunrise is still beautiful. Notable simply because of the scarcity of sunrises in the past three months. It eases the disappointment a little.
I lift up my eyes to the hills.
From where does my help come from?
My help comes from the Lord,
Who made heaven and earth.
Ps. 121:1-2
1 comment:
they are too mountains! it's a whole different world, in which time moves at a different pace. Every morning an entire universe lives and dies and goes to heaven while the sun is rising (assuming it was a cloudy night, of course) If you could _get_ to the Cloud Mountains you could have an entire adventure--help a kingdom rise or fall, and then live out your days in peace, happiness and sunshine...and then come back and just be a couple minutes further into the sunrise than you were when you left.
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