The Wings of God


Hide me in the shadow of your wings.  Psalm 17:8

Sacred time and sacred space. The Lord flies on wings of purest spirit in all places and in all times. Let this land be blessed where I sit, for the Lord Himself has perched here. He has sheltered me from the sight of my enemies. He has made my home His abode, standing guard at night and blessing us in the morning. He has called my children home again and made for them soft beds and sung lullabies. He has watched over the generations and they have responded to His call. In joy, He sits in the branches of the trees and sings to us in the morning light. His flight, the flapping of His wings, sends cool breezes in the midst of the summer heat. His feathers warm us in the dark and cold of winter. And always is a resting place prepared for us until we climb onto His shoulders and He flies us away to our home everlasting.

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In the camps by the river where dwell those without homes, I saw a man with wings. He sat around the campfires with others who drank wine joylessly or who pierced their veins with poison. In his lap, one such broken creature rested her head and he stroked her hair. Another, in the midst of singing an old song, cried, and he wiped away his tears. Some stumbled back to ragged tents, others slept where they were as the snow began to fall and a cold wind to blow. He outstretched his arms, sheltering them, and stood watch through the night. In the morning, he flew into the branches of the trees and sang to them. They were weary and hungry and on the verge of despair, burdened by another day. He descended and led them to where they could be fed. All this I watched through a day and a night and into another day. As his wards passed by, he approached me, his wings sullied and his clothing ragged, and bid me to stop watching and to follow.

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