Once again, we stand amidst nature in celebration of our Lord. It would seem that their voices are more consistently lifted in praise than those using words... those with a copy of the book God wrote, whom we might expect to celebrate His creation.
Could it be the lack distraction... this nature more grounded, rooted, unshakable and unshifting... more content in every quiet moment of their existence? If you've hiked these places, and enjoyed their solitude, maybe you can imagine why.
For I doubt when we leave their presence, they miss our heavy feet. The peaceful silence left behind after we cease from shouting among their canyons, enjoying the prideful echo of our own voices ringing in thier ears. Most likely they long to forget us.
But the Lord continues...
Even if these forget,
yet I will not forget you.
Look, I have inscribed you
on the palms of My hands;
How precious we are to Him...
even in the affliction of our pride
we mean more to Him
than the splendor of all His creation.
For look how He has
carved our name in His hand....
our Constant Compassion
who still bears the scars;
wearing them as a daily reminder
that we belong to Him.
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