Mystery. Mysterion.
One summer night I stand on the porch.
Watching a mystery.
Heat lightning.
Light pulsating in silent, brilliant rhythm.
Illuminating massive white clouds in night sky.
I can’t tear my eyes away.
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Mystery. Mysterion.
One summer night I stand on the porch.
Watching a mystery.
Heat lightning.
Light pulsating in silent, brilliant rhythm.
Illuminating massive white clouds in night sky.
I can’t tear my eyes away.
The weight on my heart is not a frantic, anxious weight. It’s the weight of prayer. Prayer for my dear friend who is suffering. She wades through deep waters in this season. Crushed.
Crying out to You the hurt. The upheaval. The unknown.
And yet, even there she speaks of Your faithfulness. Even there, Your word sustains. Daily manna, she says. And ponders what the God of the impossible can do.
“If we believe He is who He says He is, how can we not hope?”