the hills are alive

Gazing out the window thinking about God. That is what I've been doing this week. Situated at Siloam, on the fringe of Barapani (literally, 'big water') near Shillong in Northeast India, Barby and I have had a room that looks out across the lake to some rolling hills. As the light and the weather changes, the hills tell a story - even a testimony, every believer's testimony of walking with God.

Sometimes the view is partial, as the light is just dawning and the fuzzy outline of the hills is barely visible.



Sometimes the view is bright, as the early sun splashes onto the hills, highlighting specific features with a singular enthusiasm.



Sometimes the view is imperfect, but reflected still in the lives of others with such beauty that we are drawn back to the original with thanksgiving.



Sometimes the view is obstructed, as the drizzle of doubts, the fog of fears, the cloud of confusions, or the wind of worries begin to get in the way.



Sometimes the view is gone, because the drizzle of doubts, the fog of fears, the cloud of confusions, or the wind of worries have fully got in the way and blotted it out.



Sometimes the view is tinted, as a certain light dances with a certain perspective to transform everything connected with the hills.



Sometimes the view is full, as colours and shades, ranges and ridges emerge with a detail and vibrancy that satisfies the deepest longings.



Sometimes the view disappears and all becomes dark ... but the hills are still there and they will be seen again.



nice chatting

Paul

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