Sunday Morning

The spires of the pine trees rise like steeples.  A choir of insects hums the prelude.  The birds offer a morning anthem. .  The breezy breath of the wind stirs the trees to praise. The dome of the sky is a shelter of blue and white; the sun shines brighter than any candles.  And God is present.

 

Later, I will go to church, and there will be a steeple and music and praise and candles.  And God will be there, too.

 

I am reminded of a song taught to us in a long-ago Sunday School class:  

 

Over the ground is a mat of green;

Over the green, the dew;

Over the dew are the arching trees;

Over the trees, the blue.

Dotting the blue are the scudding clouds.

Over the clouds, the sun;

Over the sun is the love of God,

Brooding us everyone.