Cathedrals in the Sky

The clouds move across the sky, grey with a hint of purple. I want to grab a palette and brush and capture the ethereal wonder of it all, to hold onto what I feel right now and recreate it on a canvas.
The glow on the horizon breaking the black.
The band of pink. 
The incremental warming of the earth. 
I want to touch it, feel it, get it inside of me because it's Him. He's right there in the sunrise. He's right here in the stirring of my heart. He is painting the exquisite sky this morning with a poignancy that cracks my hardened heart. I want to shed a tear as the hallelujah of the sun pushes forth rays taking all that grey on the clouds into glowing fire of pink, orange, red. The force of its power is overwhelming. When I feel like I haven't room in my heart for greater glory, an eruption of gold shouts "Yes, I, the sun, testify to the goodness of creation, of all that He made with a word, with all the goodness that sprung forth from within himself." Trees dance their muted colors, awakening with each new ray, their glory held in anticipation of the revealing of the sun. And the Son keeps dancing across those clouds like mirth in the heart of a child - cascading over the canopy, carefree, completely at rest, full of joy.
He is rejoicing in the cathedral that He made for us. It's a cathedral that is the living book. It's the story of the gospel woven all through it, not in stained glass, but in the testimony of all that we see, breathe and know that is good. He is here.


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