(Her eyes were closed…)
There is sound. Something like orderly bursts of thunder fills the air around me, filling my ears and flooding my mind. Like liquid, this booming din drips down my throat and pulses in my stomach, overriding the steady pound-pounding of my heart.
Quiet, velvety voices cry in unison, sometimes soft and whispery like rustling pines, sometimes sharp and eager, laden with ecstasy, expectation, overwhelmed, like waves pounding on sand during a hurricane.
What are the voices saying?
(Oh Lord, let your people hear Your voice! The deaf are dying!)
“Mighty breath of God, breathe on this place.”
(Breathe on these dry bones; stir this dust with your breath so we may live!)
Sometimes when the thunder does not crash, and the tumult of voices lulls, there is a profound, heavy silence. This silence is keeper of saints’ prayers, and hope, and contentment that is both warm and melancholy. I wish I could partake.
I smile, catch my breath, find my heartbeat.
(Jesus, open the eyes of the spiritually blind!)
(She opens her eyes.)
He delights in me,
I see His face.
No words are adequate.
*You are worthy of it all
You are worthy of it all
For from You are all things
And to You are all things
And You deserve the glory!*
**Worthy of It All--David Brymer