something like the sublime

During halftime last night I took a break from watching our boys get pummeled by Dook and went for a brisk run around the loop with CatKlaw. We had to stop soon because K sprained her ankle. The two of them went in while I stayed outside and lay on the grass.

It was a dark and quiet night (everyone on campus was inside yelling and moaning and tearing their hair) and I was overwhelmed by peace. I lay there, listening to the black sky, watching the white clouds skim quickly across its surface like an army advancing westward. I sighed and pressed my spine into the ground, laced my fingers in the grass. Peace. The wind gently shakes the thin branches above. I counted six stars. God seemed astonishingly close. My mind struggled to find the right things to say to Him; His nearness extinguished thought, erased a clear pattern of articulation. I felt a little like those Romantic poets who were always gushing about approaching the sublime; when faced with natural beauty, the soul trembles and grasps for words but can find none. Expression is suspended and replaced by drowning, consuming emotion.

I can’t even describe how good it felt to talk to God—even more so to hear Him talk back. I cried for my unfaithfulness to Him, marveled that He would be willing—and even eager—to take me back. I lay there and just breathed. Now I remember why I pray, I thought. It is for this; this proximity to the divine, this weak and often shy ascension to a living God.

(And so I crawl back.)

Today my beautiful sister Grace turned sixteen and is now licensed to wreak havoc on the roads and travel the globe. She is lovely and I am forever impressed by her. So, cheers, Gracie. Wish I could be there with you today.

And did you know desire’s a terrible thing
The worst that I can find
And did you know desire’s a terrible thing
But I rely on mine…
“Can’t Be Sure,” The Sundays