brilliance

We went camping last week at some acreage we have out in West Texas, where my husband is building the cabin you see in the picture on the right. It’s a rugged piece of land, and the unique beauty found there goes hand-in-hand with regional dangers like rattlesnakes, cacti, wild boar, and blistering heat.

After sleeping in our cabin (now airtight enough to go without a tent!) we woke early to get our work done before the midday heat. By 10 am it had already become suffocating so we began packing up to go, squinting in the glare. There is nothing quite so bright as direct late-morning sun, with only small trees around so no shade.

The grass out there has been growing all spring and has become very tall, with beige seed pods at the top of each blade that bend over with the wind and shimmer in the brightness. I stopped packing for a few minutes to drink some water from the cooler and look out over the pasture. And that’s when it caught my eye — the shimmer and rhythm of the tall grass in the hot Texas breeze was almost hypnotizing. I could have watched it all day.

(God is like that, I think.)

Real life is both beautiful and dangerous, where metaphorical rock valleys hide rattlesnakes waiting to inject us with venom. Where the heat of midday suffocates us, bearing down relentlessly. Where obstacles like cactus and creatures like wild boars lurk underfoot or in our individual nights of the soul. Where hard work leaves us spent, staring out into a prairie of random thoughts and daydreams.

(God is the shimmer and the rhythm in the tall grass. Have you seen Him?)

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