I love when God stirs my soul. He shows me loveliness in his creation: the darkening day's sky on fire, the earth perfumed with honeysuckle, the shadow of a cloud caressing the face of a mountain, the thundering majesty of the ocean, and the smile of an old friend. I am a poor soul who has been wooed by Christ's beauty. And I am happy and comfortable.
But here he is, now, shaking me. Wrecking me. Razing the faith I love - ripping apart this house I've built. There was a moment in his anger where I thought I heard him muttering (Does God mutter?), "I am."
The mystery of God increases, and I - tired of arguing, tired of hiding, tired of lying - fall to my knees and worship.