The Significance of a Moment

How often do we find ourselves pushing moments into one another, rushing, speeding, striving to get to the next, better, important moment later on? How often do we pause and try to describe a moment as it happens, try to feel it, drink it in and savor it, like one savors a bite of something delicious?

A writer's job is to describe, to put the reader into the moment, so the reader can truly feel and try to experience what the writer is attempting to convey. I suppose I would consider myself as a writer, but one that is still learning the craft. But I will try.

Do you ever have a moment that seems to hold significance, but you're not sure why? You try to understand it, to feel it, and to describe it so you can remember it forever, but it eludes the words you try to use. It seems you are on the edge of inspiration, of understanding something truly profound, but it sits on the tip of your brain, on the edge of description.

I was driving, and I was blown away by a feeling  I still can't quite grasp. I can describe the fireflies I saw across the road, appearing like tiny sparks of fire, extinguished in moments. I could describe the deep scent of the earth that has just been tilled and wind mixing together through my window, a promise of rain in the air. My words can try to paint a picture of the last rays of a summer sunset, the purple and pink mixing in with the deep navy that creeps in to slowly envelop all other colors. The feel of the wind moving my hair about, its sound competing with the song on the radio.

Yet I can't describe the wistful feeling that all of these things brought me, the wildness that seemed to well up in me as I smelled the earth and wind, or the bittersweet feeling I got as the sun set on another day. I can't truly describe what happened, or how I felt, and why it drove me to cry out to God.

But I will try.

For these moments must be savored; described with our inexperienced writings and our insufficient words.
Because if we ignore them, these moments will be lost, and we will miss the brief communion with God that they bring.

Hanna Elizabeth

His Presence on the Prairie

Have you ever had an ache for time with the Lord?

An itch to go somewhere peaceful, completely alone, and bask in his presence?

It is a curious, driving feeling, something that can't be explained unless you've felt it.
Some go to chapels, a special place at home, in their cars.

My favorite place is on the prairie, under the stars.

The twinkling clusters of homes, nestled into the prairie swells. The endless sea of grasses, stretching for miles, rolling along uninhibited by more than a few trees planted in windbreaks.

My favorite part are the lights. Not from the cities, for we have only a few, but the ones overhead.
The red twinkle of mars,
The big dipper,
Orion's belt,
and the benevolent, cool face of the moon, illuminating the dirt roads and peaceful fields.

The trill of crickets calling to find a mate,
the rattle of cicadas doing the same,
the rustle of some ground dwelling creature passing through,
even the occasional coyote band,

The prairie is never silent.

And who can forget the wind? Always the wind.
With no trees to slow it down, nothing hinders its journey through the prairies. Sometimes fierce and wild, biting our faces, roaring through with a blizzard or a rainstorm as its companions.

Other times, rarer times, it is soft, kind, pleasing your ears with gentle rustlings as it moves through the dry grasses, caressing your skin as it swirls around you.

Although some complain that it never stops, we miss it when the grasses are still.

There has always been a touch of mystery to the wind. Gentle, Angry, Howling, Soft, the wind is never quite tame or predictable.

"The wind blows where it wishes and you hear the sound of it, but do not know where it comes from and where it is going; so is everyone who is born of the Spirit." John 3:8

The wind reminds me of the Holy Spirit in some ways.
Always present, softly nudging our consciences in the right direction, as we sometimes begrudgingly listen. Occasionally It overwhelms us with its power.

And sometimes, It is silent.

And when It is silent, we miss It. Our hearts seem still.

Sometimes we panic, trying everything to get It to come back, or sink into despair, thinking that we'll never hear it again.

But always, always, in the right time, It returns, a still small voice. guiding us, leading us to communion with Him.

The prairie is where I feel closest to the Lord...My own personal chapel.

I like to imagine God walking through the grasses, like He did in the Garden of Eden. Walking beside me, or simply sitting with me as I bask in His creation, His Joyous presence.

I think the prairie, is best enjoyed on a day where you can stand, face to the gentle wind, and let Him soak into your heart.

The presence of God is the most overwhelmingly beautiful thing one can ever experience. 

Seek His presence, wherever you are.

He will not disappoint.

Hanna Elizabeth