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Reflections from the Swing

I'm sitting on the wooden swing in my backyard, under an aquamarine sky, the wooden slats warm and familiar against my back. Everywhere I look, there is movement—leaves swaying, colours changing, clouds drifting, wind dancing, my shadow rocking back and forth with the slow arc of the swing.

I'm alone, and yet, I know I'm not. It's an exhilarating feeling. God is here with me. He always is, but sometimes it takes a slow swing on a sunny day to remember how close He is, how much I miss Him when I keep my head down.

Life is busy. That's nothing new. It's a balancing act and it always has been. I often forget to look around while I follow my path, keeping my head down, watching my feet, counting my strides, pushing myself to cover more ground and avoid every obstruction instead of breathing deep and listening long and feeling God walking before and behind me.

That's why I came to the swing. To remember. To listen. To be still and know that He is God, exalted in heaven and earth. The wind sending autumn chills across my arms still carries echoes of the Spirit-wind that swept over the twelve disciples on the day of Pentecost. The sun gilding clouds above my head is the same sun that stood still for Joshua, son of Nun, when God displayed His sovereignty over night and day themselves, and all God's people knew that He was with them and for them.

God is with me and for me. I know it because I am His. I gave myself to Him and that doesn't change if I lose sight of Him for a moment, because I am never so lost that He can't find me, never so blind that He can't open my eyes to His presence beside me, now and always, my guide and guard and God. I am a child, but He is patient with me. Hallelujah, He is patient with me. He sits beside me on the wooden swing in my backyard, and I would not trade Him for anything.

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