1/5/02

Up at Forest Home. I'm sitting outside by the river. I hear God in the river. A quiet laughter as the water passes over the rocks, smoothing and rounding them, slowly into pebbles, and then sand. God is in the river.
It's cold out here at 4:45pm. The sky is turning from blue to gray and the shadows are becoming indistinguishable from the general dimness of the surroundings. God is in the cold and the shadows.
The river is loud in the silence, but not in an annoying way. It is strangely comforting and I think the silence welcomes it.
I feel like an observer of the sacred out here on this rock by this river, in the midst of this forest. There is something sacred and holy about being in nature. And yet, as I look around, I see a plastic spoon lying among the rocks, reminding me that nothing is unspoiled this side of heaven. But God is in the spoon too, and the spoon can speak to me with God's voice just as much as the river.
I sneeze and I feel like an intruder.
It's getting colder; my fingers are numb, but I wish to stay by this river and listen to God forever.