I live in a box, a studio we call it, 27/32/9 feet with a southwest wall of glass. Our bed is on wheels and every evening I roll it to the glass, so we don't miss any of the wild things of night. We are surrounded by wilderness, forested on three sides, the Mighty Tennessee in front, and mountains beyond. We have a sincere art collection that surrounds us, a small wood stove to heat us, and screens allowing the smells, sounds, and breezes into our home. Our closest neighbors are animals and birds who are endlessly present throughout our day and night. We are off-grid, mostly have cell service outside, read, write, make art, talk, and live to be with each other. We are constantly entertained by the earth, sky, and heavens, and live mostly unaware of human presence. We hold our family close, our few friends near and our remembered ones dear. God our God is always present, His reality ever before us, welcoming us to His world, showing us his might, power, and majesty. We on occasion must cry out to Him, but mostly, quietly, are moved to thank Him. This morning, I remember Him in the grave but His world, now filling with sunlight, forces my thoughts out of His tomb and into His resurrected light of tomorrow. “The world in silent stillness lay, to hear the angels sing…” He is risen.
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