my delight

I'm siting down and wondering. What makes a good seat? this one is rather cold and somewhat uninviting. But I gace it a chance. I'm in Stavanger, western Norway and behind me cars and buses are on their way throughout the town. Infront is a pond that reminds me of the ocean, but produces none of the Cayucos Breeze. There are trees jutting out of a short hillside next to the calming waters. People pass by and speak a language I am beginning to understand. The ground beneath my feet reasures me that I am in the right place. And I begin to believe it. If a swan's quacking becamse speaking and a fountain's falling becamse music, would you hear it? If a tree asked you to reach up into the sky, would you climb its branches? Who knows what will happen tommorow, or today for that matter. What will it take for us to face this day, this swan, this fountain, this tree and answer it? If only for an instant I can answer the world around me. The anser may be unwelcome and unheard but it is all the truth I hold dear. Jesus lives. He breathes. The Holy Spirit convicts me to open my lips and sing His praise. I sing His praise to the swans in the lake as I draw them with my pen. I sing His praise to the fountain as I let the water fall between my fingers. I sing His praise to the trees as I climb their branches and I do not mind if anyone happens to hear. For my delight is in Christ.