We sang one of my favorite hymns in church last Sunday, a hymn that describes a beautiful and intimate way to feel and know God. <\/p>\n
114. Come unto Him (Theodore E. Curtis)<\/p>\n
I wander through the still of night, When solitude is ev’rywhere–
\nAlone, beneath the starry light, And yet I know that God is there.
\nI kneel upon the grass and pray; An answer comes without a voice.
\nIt takes my burden all away And makes my aching heart rejoice. <\/p>\n
When I am filled with strong desire And ask a boon of him, I see
\nNo miracle of living fire, But what I ask flows into me.
\nAnd when the tempest rages high I feel no arm around me thrust,
\nBut ev’ry storm goes rolling by When I repose in him my trust. <\/p>\n
It matters not what may befall, What threat’ning hand hangs over me;
\nHe is my rampart through it all, My refuge from mine enemy.
\nCome unto him all ye depressed, Ye erring souls whose eyes are dim,
\nYe weary ones who long for rest. Come unto him! Come unto him! <\/p>\n
I particularly like the second verse. It describes a way to depend on God — to find and nurture testimony and belief — that resonates with me. Despite my history of intermittent spiritual highlights, I find that my own belief is often rooted more in the threads of my everyday experiences of comfort and happiness than in the wandering, scattershot annals of my meager array of miracles. The moments that God has touched me have been real and undeniable, and at times their reality flashes through to steer me, almost painfully palpable. Yet at other times, those experiences seem cold and colorless, far removed from me, fragmented and flimsy and unable to turn aside the currents that buffet me. At those times, when the magic and music is hard to remember, I can anchor my soul in the comfort and peace of prayer and mediation, and know that it is enough.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
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