Eternity Rushing into Space, or the Glory of God Descending Like Fire Upon Earth

All for this one moment—this instant—the heavenly bodies came together in a joyful dance with every circumstance of situation and biology to capture this wandering soul in epiphanies of divine beauty and sweet bowers of blessing.

One moment in a long line of moments, and endless circle of moments, but standing above them. The painting that appeared here started months ago on a canvas of grey. It was these hills, drab and covered with dirty snow, where birth was whispered on April air. It began as woody buds softened to the breeze, and dry twigs ran with sap once again.

Then sweet rain comes, cleansing, slaking, saturating. The pallet sheds its grey hues for brown. Drab still, but loaded with life—a life living off of death. From this undying death springs life, a variable fecundity in green we call constant in our waking months.

Is it enough? Surely you can't doubt the beauty, subtleness, complexity, and variety of a Minnesota summer. But there's more, a greater show than this. Just when you claim to understand—to comprehend even a little—the deep mystery of life, it all explodes in your face.

I can see it here, on top of my mountain. I can see the waiting, the time and process, the shrill excitement.

The moment has come, and she dances and spins with all the glory of her lover-God. The clouds slip back and the sun breaks forth, shedding wondrous light everywhere. The sky ranges from deep blue to fiery gold, but below, the color has been shot through a diamond, fall. Every color of the evening sky has landed upon the forest, mingling with the best colors of life.

Photography gives me language to discuss light. It has terms for the quality of light, the hues we see. When I look off my mountain I measure contrast, saturation, and brilliance in my head. But the science can't conquer the wonder of what I see. The living place exceeds the photograph. It's complete.

For half an hour the trees sway in the breeze before the sun sinks behind nearby hills. I'm eating sausage and cheese, unable to imagine what could make this moment more full. I read the Psalms aloud for the neighboring squirrels to hear. I stare, and stare. The light fades and colors alternatively deepen and soften. A crescent moon floats in the sun's pink wake. Then stars appear, until they fill the sky with their light.

All of this, all the living and dying, the processes ephemeral and eternal, coming together to teach this boy, sitting on his Midwest mountain, something of splendor. A whisper and a cry, Worship.