There is a certain feeling of peace mixed with trepidation that fills you as you look over the vast expanse of the Swazi mountains. They roll and rise with ancient majesty like crests of the waves on a wild sea. Living in squat houses on rickety bunk beds on what felt like the edge of the world with that view fills you will nothing short of awe at the beauty and intricacies that the Lord can create. Each day when the sun rises and falls it looks as though the heavens are cracking open and pouring all off its ethereal glory out for us to witness.
Sometimes when the sun set here, I would sit on a boulder at the edge of our mountaintop and cry. I would cry not out of sadness or exhaustion but out of sheer amazement and disbelief. I am amazed at the character of the view, the bucolic serenity and Technicolor sky. I am amazed that the God who conducted this sight, knows me, loves, me, chooses me. I feel like I am friends with an artist and all I want to do is tell everyone I know, “Look at this look at this thing! Isn’t my friend amazing, aren’t his brushstrokes amazing? Isn’t his technique endlessly fascinating and unique?” The light pierces my heart and lights up the world in all of its enormity and wonder, bringing light to the darkest places. Reds, yellows, oranges, and purples wane and bleed into each other until they are one brightness, casting shadows against the earth. The tranquility and the terror of standing in such awe consumes me and brings joy to my heart. Even the trees which stand tall and proud, seem to shrink in the face of the sunset. The wind sings to me the cadence of creation as it goes through the valleys and hollows. The world is on fire and I want nothing more than to watch it burn in that moment forever. I would see God in the sunset; he is mighty and terrifyingly peaceful. He is color, he is light, and he is breaking past the jagged edges flying towards my eyes to show them the world and its enormity.
