Clouds Are The Dust Of His Feet – Nahum 1:3
Sometimes I wonder if pain is nothing more than the salt of angel tears falling into our open wounds, a void in the human heart that God carves out just for Himself. I wonder if Grace is the void. The lonely place we all endure that is never quite alone. The place no one else can touch. Not even ourselves, like the middle of our back, an itch only the sacred can scratch. I ache for something more. Words wander. Language is lost.
The closest I can come to it is the word: Awe. The kind where you swallow a star and your whole being illuminates from within. I’ve climbed some of the world’s highest mountains to touch the sky. I’ve skied to the northern most point of the earth to see the sun circle above us 24 hours a day setting a field of ice flowers on fire to glimmer as precious stones. I’ve searched for a lost ship, the last link to a world that time has forgotten high atop a Painful Mountain, only to find my heart again.
Still, I yearn for more. I yearn for an undiscovered country where tears are shed only in joy, where the sun never sets and where white-capped mountains bow low and lay their golden crowns down before a throne covered in clouds as the dust of His feet. Who else thinks and dreams of such a place?
Let us dream awake together. – Kevin