Sometimes I crave to write about the little things, the forgotten and the alone. Sometimes I feel as if the big and grand have been stretched to death and in the explorations of such it as if the details overtake the whole and thus the whole feels smaller somehow. Surely the universe contains more than my mind can comprehend yet still I seek to understand and perhaps I reach for that deeper knowledge that lurks beyond the veil. And so though I know – or least claim to know – the truths of what was and is and is to come, there are moments when I let go and simply rest in peace that the unknown by me is known by one and this knowing is the comprehensive kind that somehow finds room for me too. Yes, I speak of God. For who else is worthy of all my thoughts, the small and great alike? There is nothing greater that can be thought than the God whom my soul craves to know. And you know, do you know, of that which I speak? There is a whisper that speaks louder than all the screaming voices that flicker along the waves that crash upon the shore over and over again. This whisper comes from a voice that spoke before the world began, a voice that in the beginning spoke so that the world began. This word that existed in this time and space where there was neither is the word which now I lift my eyes to in awestruck love as I consider the love that is mine flowing down the side of him who died, in this word that was and is and is to come and this word that spoke my name and in this quiet moment as I consider the cosmos shaking truth that somehow in a sense i don’t fully understand this word died as lips spoke in simple unshaken faith that all was accomplished in a moment of time upon this earth as space held still in hushed humility to consider the work that was done on that patch of dirt upon that small forsaken hill and so I lift my eyes to the word that was lifted up for me. So long ago and yet not long ago as some would consider time to flow. And so because of what has been done for me, I rest my soul and so I can write about the little things, the quiet moments on the grass, the slowly flickering candle and the whir of the overhead fan and the traffic whirring down the road for even all these things point to a greater whole and a cosmos made and held together by a divine one who now sits upon the right hand of the majesty on high even if this world does not quite know – or rather refuse to know – that the lives of all are held within the hand of the one who created all things and then descended in shocking condescension so that some may behold his face. Now in faith I do behold him and I hope for that day when I shall look upon his face for true. I lift my voice to heaven and praise Father, Spirit, Son. What is it that the Godhead should consider me beloved? My eyes water at the thought and I tremble as I think on that day that blood and water ran out of a body that was given freely for me. And just so as that body died so too did it three days later rise to life upheld by the Father in triumphant resurrection glory and because I am through the work of the Spirit bound to Christ, I know that so too I have died and now in new life rise and in communion with God I live forever even if forever does not always feel that way. In faith I sing joyous praises. In hope I cry oh Lord Jesus come soon. In love I weep for divine favor. And I hear a whisper on the wind and upon the pages. My child, I died for you.