silence and sound.
I sat at the top of the hill this evening and watched the twilight fall. I sat with a pipe under a sky that began to fill with starts in the fading after glow of a burnt orange sunset. The valley filled with the sound of frogs and crickets; mists slowly tangled through the branches of the trees, and far away the owls called to one another from the forest. From time to time, a firefly would spark in the brambles or across the grass – I have never seen so many this year, not in number, but in time. They have become a sign of encouragement and a symbol of hope, and have been found when I needed to know that.
Peace. That’s all I can think of when I watch this – when I listen. The soft breeze rolled up the hill and stole the smoke from my pipe – nothing warm, nor cold, but just enough to excite the imagination and wake the heart. Life is blooming; something beautiful is on the horizon.
There’s something peaceful about such a scene – that no matter what is happening in my life, it is unchanged. I think it is comforting that such things cannot be touched by my weakness, nor altered by my strength. They do not serve me, and no matter how much I try I cannot see them for anything other than what they are: beautiful. They sing a greater song – a song of love, whispered by a God who loves me so completely and so fully that He teaches me to sing in my storms – not despite His love, but because of it. I must trust that a God who can paint the beauty of a spring, and a crescent moon that worships Him, must know more than I and so there is no reason to be anything other than they – thankful.