When the future is a haze, the sky is still candy-blue over me. And in the orchard, where the branches reach to entwine their fingers and the apples smile in the sunlight, ruddy-cheeked, life is solid in my hand, sweet and simple. By the trout pond, as I slip my arms around my husband and sigh, I see that the glittering water never ceases drifting toward the river, though the trees guarding it do change, no longer green but strawberry-red. On the pathway among lofty pine and fiery maple, I look ahead only to the next bend. And even on the day when the sky is obscured by wool, and the orchard has relinquished its every fruit, the pond its rosy trimming, the pathway its dappled light—I emerge from the church to be enfolded in honeyed woodsmoke. I know, with a secret smile, that it is His promise to me: I am with you always, ever ready to give you My peace, if only you will pause, inhale the air, and find Me in the moment.
I believe He can be found also in the word, in the mind. But, for me, His most powerful word is that which is unspoken, His most tender touch felt by my heart in the breeze and the grass and my husband’s embrace.