I saw God today through ancient eyes.  I saw Him through the work of 1,000 brushes.  I saw Him in boards honed, nails driven, and roofs raised.  I saw God in the painted churches of the Navidad Valley.

I heard God in the silence, in the distant echoes of the creaking wheels of ox carts carrying Czech and Austrian immigrants from the Port of Galveston across Texas.  I closed my eyes, and I knelt with my hand on floorboards that turned to 150-year old soil against my palm.  My fingers traced the gouges left across the land as the settlers passed.

As I held my hand against the wintered ground, there it was: the sounds of voices whispering fervently their prayers of thanks, their pleas for grace, their shouts of anguish.

The voices begged me, “Look up, look UP. Look up and see the splendor.  Look up and see our passion.  Our commitment.  Our reverence of Him.”

And so I did, into the painted rafters of these six simple country churches that spilled their secrets over my eyes.

How hard were their lives. How deep their faith.

I saw God today like I had never seen him before.

Wow. Where do you see God, friends? Humbled, Pamelot

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