The slight depressions along the bubbling brook tracked the direction of the skipping pebbles. The surrounding lush garden shadowed the green, mossy land abutting the water’s edge. There, under the weeping willow she sat, emanating the forest’s countenance.
She balanced several more of the black rocks, their smooth, flat surface warming the webs of her fingers. Tossing them across the surface of the pond, she punctuated the end of her meditation, the gliding fragments disrupting the peaceful current of the wildlife below.
She absorbed the floral scents, the rhythmic cicadas attuned, and the warm, muggy air enveloping her with God’s outstretched arms. Her immediate ecosystem paired with the one within. Feeling a gentle push, she rose to her feet, unperturbed by the trapped stains on her khaki shorts. One last perusal, smiling at her sanctuary. Her strong resolve mirroring the steadfastness of the towering trees, leaving the branches to do the weeping.
Psalms 30:5: “For His anger is but for a moment, His favor is for life; Weeping may endure for a night, But joy comes in the morning.”
God Works Always 