My god lives in the wilderness.
I meet God under the stars,
sitting by a campfire,
or rocking on a boat
with the rythmic clanking of a line
bumped against the mast,
by the breath of God.
To me the wilderness
is not devoid of God
but intimately tied to God.
It's where God hugs me in the arms
of damp woodsy air
and takes my breath away
with red and purple painted sky.
It's where the still and quiet
meets my busy mind
and calls me to slow down.
It's where no matter how big my worries are
they shrink against the back drop
of trees and sky and clouds and stars,
The God of the wilderness comforts me
when the walls of a church feel claustrophobic.
The piece of God in the trees
and the rocks
and the moonlight
invite me to be
who I am
when no one else
has the patients to wait
for the real me
to come out
of hiding.
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