Sam and I are currently in Bozeman, Montana. As we make our trek back from a wonderous week in Seattle, there have been unending thoughts crossing my mind. There has been much depth in my heart today, as I have thought and ruminated on the things God has been teaching me. I am still working on writing that down. This is something of less depth.
But as I was thinking the same string of thoughts and questions I've pondered all day long, I walked outside. I walked out to the car to grab my ever-present and necessary Chapstick, when I stopped and felt the chilly breeze on my face.
It's August, but the night is chilly. The air is dry and crisp, and it smells like a late October night in Saint Louis. I loved every second of it. I could almost smell the colors of fall and hear the crisp sound of leaves on the ground.
I can't explain it. The silence that comes from a chill in the wind, the overcast of the clouds in the sky or the dull residual light of a sun long gone. I am weird, I know. But the cold, the dark... It's like home to me. To love it is so strange to most people, but it's all I have ever known.
Don't get me wrong. I love a good hot day spent swimming and (hopefully someday) surfing and sailing. I love wearing my Chacos and running through the sprinkler. And I am certain I would long for the warmth of the sun on my face if it ceased to exist.
But nothing, nothing satisfies my soul the way it was satisfied tonight. Embraced by a chill in the air, the smell of freshness and life and color, the sweet comfort of darkness and stars and silence.
I couldn't help but stop and worship. To revel in the circumstances I was made to love and thrive and see so much of God in. I couldn't help but cry out "Abba," and smile in thanksgiving and joy.
Which was, I think, exactly the point.
But as I was thinking the same string of thoughts and questions I've pondered all day long, I walked outside. I walked out to the car to grab my ever-present and necessary Chapstick, when I stopped and felt the chilly breeze on my face.
It's August, but the night is chilly. The air is dry and crisp, and it smells like a late October night in Saint Louis. I loved every second of it. I could almost smell the colors of fall and hear the crisp sound of leaves on the ground.
I can't explain it. The silence that comes from a chill in the wind, the overcast of the clouds in the sky or the dull residual light of a sun long gone. I am weird, I know. But the cold, the dark... It's like home to me. To love it is so strange to most people, but it's all I have ever known.
Don't get me wrong. I love a good hot day spent swimming and (hopefully someday) surfing and sailing. I love wearing my Chacos and running through the sprinkler. And I am certain I would long for the warmth of the sun on my face if it ceased to exist.
But nothing, nothing satisfies my soul the way it was satisfied tonight. Embraced by a chill in the air, the smell of freshness and life and color, the sweet comfort of darkness and stars and silence.
I couldn't help but stop and worship. To revel in the circumstances I was made to love and thrive and see so much of God in. I couldn't help but cry out "Abba," and smile in thanksgiving and joy.
Which was, I think, exactly the point.
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