I have seen the Spirit moving behind the gathering clouds, with wings the color of rainbows. I have watched the light of creation split the sky, as angels pound the drums of heaven. What is holy is not what is tame, what is divine is as wild as a desert rain. Love is not a timid breeze, but a storm of change, sweeping the comfortable before it like leaves, blowing the dust off our ordered lives, challenging us to dare the elements of our own vision. What is holy is not what is tame, so when you stand to pray, stand facing the wind.
In the evening shadows, when twilight pulls purple lace around the sleeping trees, I walk beneath gathering clouds with regret by my side. How many things I would have done differently. How many choices I would change. But before I reach the rise of the moon, I see lights begin to go on, house by house, each a firefly of hope in the darkness. Look up, look forward, they seem to say. Leave regret to itself and live now as you would have lived then. I turn for home, walking a little faster. It is not what we have been, but what we become, that separates the night from the day.
We don’t receive wisdom;
we must discover it for ourselves after a journey
that no one can take for us or spare us.