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Vainglory finds us

but glory is rare.

Glory is the birth of a baby.

Unknown to the cosmos

for the quiet centuries

before it announces itself.

Glory is a love that is self-giving,

that does not have the taint of

its own advantage.

Glory is the advent of a summer evening,

its light burnished in the west,

the perfect moment in time.

Glory is Superior’s diamonds

reflected forever toward

the horizon.

The mountain standing stalwart,

its brightness challenging the sky.

These are but shadows.

Bodies that are born again,

the seed buried in the earth

only to rise, only to flower,

to grow strong.

The gracious invitation to

an undeserved celebration,

coming home not to shame

but to unrivaled joy.

Glory, the earth transformed!

Changed, renewed, its gears

realigned. Its beauty made

even more startling

and magnificent.

The awesome power of a

summer storm wrapped

into eternity.

Glory awaits us. We pause

to comprehend and feel

only its approximation.

We wait, let in on its secret.

Love and power in one silken place.

A chorus where majesty

will make us weep.

A glory that never fails.

Surprises never silenced,

never dimmed.

The weight of the Eternal

pressing down on us,

catching our breath,

opening eyes

that once thought

they could see.

Humbled thankfulness,

unimagined joy,

ravished by the Giving Heart,

that drumbeat throbbing

throughout all creation.

From a new book I am considering:

Soujourner of the Spirit. Any thoughts?

Text me or comment on F/B. Thanks.