Here I speculate, tucked within a snug little coffee shop, surrounded by weather created for the epic.
Dark trees rise tall, silhouetted against an earl-grey sky. Empty branches brave the whisper of winter winds, harkening the arrival of ice and snow.
My heart alights, for in the turning of seasons I see the stunning heart of the Creator.
Does He weep, in agony over those who do not know Him?
Are those birches, stripped bare of life, a depiction of souls hollowed by the harshness of life?
Do those rumbling skies contain the darkening clouds of the human condition?
Are those raw winter winds the ragged voice of truth, attempting to awaken us to reality?
Here amidst the setting of rugged solidity and suffering lies an unfolding landscape of epic passion, suffering and redemption.
Here, amidst this dark sorrow, I see one who’s heart is poured out in suffering as a river of molten fire, sweeping through the hollows of the earth, receiving within His very being every piercing cry and tortured anguish.
Dark trees rise tall, silhouetted against an earl-grey sky. Empty branches brave the whisper of winter winds, harkening the arrival of ice and snow.
My heart alights, for in the turning of seasons I see the stunning heart of the Creator.
Does He weep, in agony over those who do not know Him?
Are those birches, stripped bare of life, a depiction of souls hollowed by the harshness of life?
Do those rumbling skies contain the darkening clouds of the human condition?
Are those raw winter winds the ragged voice of truth, attempting to awaken us to reality?
Here amidst the setting of rugged solidity and suffering lies an unfolding landscape of epic passion, suffering and redemption.
Here, amidst this dark sorrow, I see one who’s heart is poured out in suffering as a river of molten fire, sweeping through the hollows of the earth, receiving within His very being every piercing cry and tortured anguish.
No comments:
Post a Comment