There are no fanfares these days, no shattering revelations. No mountain-top encounters followed by a plunge into the valley and a rocky climb back to the summit.
These days there are no fanfares, only focused, steadfast footsteps towards the One my heart loves. He is here, He is everywhere, He is hidden in each moment. He is the secret of our days.
No shattering revelations, only God the most commonplace, lighting up everything I see. What a fancy place this world is: we are jars of clay, lit up from within, shimmering and shining golden light. And all this–light and shadow, roadside flower, diversity of peoples, conversation, endless exploration…–all this extravagance is normality, our daily inheritance.
How did you get here? How did this come to be? This mystery sneaks in. You look for it, ask for it, wait for it, cry for it, over-intellectualize it, agonize over it—then somehow you realize: it has been hidden inside all the time. The power arrives when you stop paying attention. Days go by before you notice: what you asked for has already happened. What you asked for has become a rhythm, as natural and necessary as breathing.
You open your arms to receive, your mouth to speak: what you receive and what you give are the same. You are moving in the unforced rhythms of grace.