So much water under our bridge. Beauty, children, helpmates, grandbabies, hikes, mountains, Lord’s Suppers, altars, births and deaths, endings, and beginnings, making, building, and resting. Adoration = A deep love, respect, worship, veneration. There is nothing of me accounting for this. I lived with me through my prideful attempt at being me. It was a disaster. The greatest trail of loneliness. But always surrounding me was “a great light” placed there by my parents. I was always aware of my rebellion and of life everlasting as an alternative, always there, a beacon lighting the other “way less traveled”. My lover and I stumbled faltering on it at first. But The Tender One, (Ez. 17:22) kept urging us on. Births, sunsets, waterfalls, worship services, great tempests, and grand cathedrals all lighting our trail, “a lamp to our feet.” My earliest memories to my meditations now have all been a “still, small voice” calling me to adventures unimaginable. The joy of the waters under the bridge is hearing them while looking upstream in hopeful Adoration.
*David Tripp, New Morning Mercies, my lover is reading it for the 3rd time.
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| Our daily bike ride. |
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