Silver Strokes

There are strokes of silver on the horizon that brush against an azure veil, pulling back to reveal a glorious dawn. The grass is damp with diamond dew. The wind is slow and gentle. Lingering fingers of a bitter cold tickle my body and I hug myself for warmth. I am all alone. Not even the birds are stirring, but it is a comforting loneliness. It is moments like these that souls are born. The ground I am standing on must be holy, because I’ve been taken to mighty Eden to be charmed by her maker. These rare moments have me wondering at the irony of God’s art. Nature doesn’t know the power of her seduction; beautiful and magnificent, but also innocent and humble. My heart surrenders to such splendor and my tongue is useless in expressing words. I’m not sure how long I’ve been standing here, but my legs are numb, and not from the cold. Something within my chest is stirring, pounding. It’s a swirling tension, like I’m holding my breath as not to disturb this glorious orchestra. God is conducting a pastoral symphony for me, His twenty-first century Adam. I listen as the first rays of the sun stroke the sleeping earth and gently whisper, “Wake up. A new day has come.”

If I could capture this moment in time
I’d display it for all the world to see
This endless melody of God's beauty
Sung by nature in harmony

If I could capture this moment in time
The depth of man would stir
And awaken a yearning for the pure
Awesomeness of God’s earthly picture

If I could capture this moment in time
The world of power would fail to be
Bowing down to God’s unimaginable majesty
That strokes across the morning’s tapestry

God captured for me a moment in time
To renew my heart for what draws nigh
A day of reckoning with one who sits on high
Painting silver strokes across a morning sky