It's beautiful in the Midwest, where the road takes you through clear, roaming plains--flat and lacking California's innumerable, obstructive hills and trees. The highway stretches beneath the car for miles ahead and behind, while the grassy land on either side rushes out and away in every which direction. Wherever it doesn't merge with a distant mountain, it unites seamlessly with the sky.
As for the sky, "beautiful" and "breath-taking" are rough and inadequate. God flung wide the expanse here, and in the wake of creation, a mighty calm bearing all the heavy weight of the heavens remained. Dark cumulus behemoths laden with rain collide, and golden-pink arches, streaks, and contrails sprawl above. Deep down, sinners like me experience something like a faint panic as we race, as insignificant specks, under the vast jet blue. Places like these reveal us, rendering us with nowhere to hide, just as God's presence pushed Isaiah past the point of despondency, causing him to cry out, "Woe is me! For I am undone." Places like these remind us of our true identity. For me, it reminds me that I'm still scared of life, but I need not be.
I need to go now. The sun is really up, and I guess I've got to be in Memphis, or what Robin Williams calls "club medicated."
No comments:
Post a Comment