Love and Thunder
All over the quiet plains, beneath the the snow on the high mountains,
rustling through the cattails that congregate along the water, you can feel
the presence of a promise. One a cold night when you look at the sky your
breath catches in your throat at how bright the night can be.
The dark spaces between the stars aren't as dark as you thought they were,
not nearly as dark as the tree line on the horizon, and as you stand there
with your hands shivering in your pockets suddenly you remember
that you're standing on a rock in the middle of space. Suddenly
the notion that there's a Someone who made it all and knows us all no longer seems
quite so far-fetched; Indeed, it seems too good to be false.
But here we toil and we till the hard earth, where even the warm times with
friend and kin are lonely because because we know they won't last long enough
to quiet the ache. Our sadness points to home, the way the hunger points to the feast,
the way the light of the cratered moon is always facing the sun, always pointing
to where the dawn will come like a pillar of fire when this rock we walk on
again turns to burning day. All over the quiet plains and cold stone cities
full of dying and shame, the promise is not drowned out by the weeping;
it is declared by it.
God died as man and rose again, and the sound of the fiery blast of Death
shook the firmament. Throughout the wail and the shudder, over the
shriek and moan of man, the thunder has sounded and sung, and it is both
the answer and the promise. It sings still, and you can hear what it says if you
listen; Love never dies.
Andrew Peterson
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