I walk out the door for another day here in this place and I ask myself
I look at the blue, blue sky and see the birds and hear the sound of the wind in the trees and ask myself
I feel the warmth of the friendly sun on my face, basking in its goodness and walking in its light and I ask myself
Why do I feel so good when I help someone or say a kind word?
Why do I long for love and long to show love and to be loved?
Why do I feel like there's something else out there beyond these four walls and the canopy of the sky?
Two guys in ties walk up to me and ask if they can talk to me
They tell me I can find out who I am and where I came from and where I'm going when I die.
They say God loves me and He's my Father and He wants the best for me, even when I can't figure it out
I begin to feel something real swelling inside, a familiar, happy feeling. Like Home.
Why do I feel good when I reach out to God?
Why am I feeling like I can overcome the things I never did like?
Why is this so real to me, such an obvious answer to such a puzzling question?
Now I know why.
The Three Hermits – Leo Tolstoy (1886)
2 weeks ago