Above, the sky stretches between the horizons and holds the stars that have been looking down on us for millions of years, burning bright through the galaxies, beacons of hope that remind us that each of us have been named and accounted for by the maker of the heavens and the earth, but they also remind us to go forth and discover the universe, to remember that the trivialities of today, the ones that consume us and overwhelm our minds, are miniscule in the light of our brothers and sisters the stars, the moon, the planets, the sun, the expanding sky that grows as God continues speaking.
The stars above, the man below, looking up.
And there on the horizon is the mountain, jagged in its ascent towards the sky, the stones that have been pressed upwards over time as the foundations of the earth move and merge and violently clash beneath us at all times, the struggle for power ongoing through the centuries, eons, and the result is the mountain rising before us and daring us to climb, to go high and see how our bodies and our minds might be renewed when we look down upon the earth as conquerors, there is the land we have been given to steward and to love and to nourish, there is the kingdom that is not coming in the future but the one that is at hand now, ruled by the King whose spirit lives in me, at hand. The man standing on top of the mountain formed from the depth of the earth over a hundred million years.
And there at our feet is the river that bends through the nations giving water to all who come and drink, the river carved into stone drop by drop, rainstorm by rainstorm until the water swells and pushes forward, carrying life to the ancient man and the modern man alike. In some seasons the river goes dry and the people pray for mercy, in some seasons the river floods and the people pray for mercy, but this is the way of all things, seasons of want and seasons of plenty though the wise man knows he will experience both, the wise man knows to be most grateful for the season when there is simply enough, through winter, spring, summer, fall the river remains as a moving gift to all who bend down and drink.
And here am I, the eternal man who stares at the artificial light in the palm of my hand and answers emails and spends my days selling things people don’t need.