In the quietest moments, when the music stays content to remain in the next room, the air is filled with the voice of God. Praise is an act of volition set against the sedentary mass of emotionless creatures. I will, I will the praise of You to rise from my heart to lips to the ears of others. My song, as I am able to sing it, fights through the thick of an angry forest. It waters the trees starving for rest in the storm we all feel if not recognize. The wind is You, the joy out of nowhere singing words that bring both peace and rest. In the surprising days of winter, the warm, southwesterly winds melt my frozen tears, and I’m able to feel Your love again in the loneliness of my spiritual December blizzard.
Winter stayed much longer and stronger than usual this year until sucker punched out the door by an early summer wind. Lord, sometimes I feel like a boat tossed about by the two warring sides of the sea. I’m too cold then too hot, not in one place long enough to feel settled. Yet, You are the North Star that shines between the at odds storm clouds.
The wind is You, the breeze I feel this mid- summer Sunday afternoon, cooling the sweat rushing down the back of my neck. Rest and peace, weapons set against strongholds built between You, Lord, and Man. This land is not lost as long as the wheat strains its shocks up toward the heavens for something more, the joy that comes from being filled by the wind and the raining down of Your love from above.
The wind is You, every shade of cool and hot. The wind is You, every brush of breeze or gust, and I, sitting here, sort of sweating but not quite, breathing in/ breathing out nothing other than You.