By Barbara Meyer
I walk alone . . . along a leaf strewn trail.
I look around me at the bare trees of winter past. I look below me at the last vestiges of snow and at the new sprigs of spring grass pushing their way through winters debris. I look above me at the deep blue sky with its flitting, floating clouds. I hear the rush of wind through the trees. I smell the musty dampness of dead leaves and the earthy freshness of a new seasons beginnings. I touch the rough bark at the edge of the trail, I touch the velvety moss on the dead branch by my foot. I feel something welling up inside of me, surging forth through my being. It is joy, serenity, one-ness with . . .
I walk further along the trail:
I am not alone. Oh no, you will not see anyone beside me, in front of me, behind me. And yet, I am not alone. Behind me, beside me, around me, in front of me God is here. In the breeze of the air, in the sun in the sky, in the wakening of the trees and the grasses, in the droppings of the deer, in the songs of the birds, God is here.
I walk with God:
God who is inside me, in every particle of my Being. God is here. From the beginning of time I carry with me, in me, and through me, the DNA of creation. I am so much more than me. I am We! I am stardust. I am memory of ages past. I am my grandmother, my mother, my daughter, my granddaughter. I am my grandfather, my father, my son, and grandson.
God is the Mystery that loved creation into being.
God is the Mystery that loved me into being.
I do not walk alone. God is here.
Congregational Life Vol. 7.2 May 2001
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