All I see is nature rolling, cracking, stretching to the sky, as if the peaks won't be satisfied till they are able to brush the sun's face. I see a dangerous, stark beauty that demands care before conquering.
My comfort-loving self longs for the open, wide spaces where the air is full and the eye can see what's in store because everything is flat. But up here is striving & molding; up here the air is dry & thin and causes cracks in the unyielding vessels; up here, peaks don't come without valleys.
Yet, my Yahweh-loving soul knows only in the mountains can true rejoicing be found. The rejoicing that means "to bring glory, whether with reason or without." What would it be like to rejoice in the midst of strife & trial? To hear even the mountains themselves "break forth into singing?"
I see the mountains as jagged scars across the face of His Creation. Faint echos of those on the hands, feet, & back of One who bears them to free this comfort-addict from a life lived for self.
Rejoicing is found in those scars, too.
Rejoicing is found in those scars, too.
niiiiiice. my feelings exactly (without the awesome, holy twist at the end).
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