Till all our strivings cease:
Take fom our souls the strain and stress;
And let our ordeed lives confess
The beauty of Your peace.
Breathe though the pulses of desire
Your coolness and Your balm;
Let sense be mum, its beats expire:
Speak through the earthquake, wind and fire,
O still small voice of calm!
- author unknown
(from Streams in the Desert, Januay 30)
(photo credit: me.)
When we were recently in the Cloud Forest of Monteverde, I was a bit obsessed with capturing the drops of dew hanging off the moss. It was a hard picture to capture, with the lens I had and the low light under the canopy. Coming aross this poem today, I instantly remembered the quiet, the stillness, of Creation in that place. It is not just anywhere that you can find dew- the temperatue and the light and the air have to be in that just right state. And the dew does not typically last long, not the way it lingers in the Cloud Forest. It is the refreshment He offers by being in His presence.
O that I would take time to remember that with even greater frequency.
1 comment:
amen to that!
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