In the Hands of an Angel

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He had been visiting the cathedral every day for as long as he could remember. The hush spoke to him as a whisper. He could hear the urgent whispering of sounds but no words, reminiscent of a multitude of choirs communicating the strains of a Tallis masterpiece. Sound formed meaning as voices burst through the surface of his consciousness, the cacophony of noises swirling and weaving as patterns emerged. The very stones were breathing in rhythm to his own.

Butterflies fluttered in the pit of his tummy. A familiar sensation as this time of year approached. Moving between the mighty pillars of this ancient worship space, the light grew brighter as the shadows lengthened.

To begin the inner journey.  To put one’s trust- one’s life- in the hands of God.  Pausing at the sanctuary he bowed his head.  It is a long journey, challenging and often uncertain.  Foxes have holes, and the swallows their nest, but the Son of God and those who follow have no place to lie down.

Faltering as he turned around, something brushed against his arm. Looking up at the magnificent east window, he could hear them.  A song of the saints.  Stepping into that inner space, he saw the wilderness of his fears and weaknesses. Before, he had not known what to expect. Suddenly, dazzling light flashed across the sanctuary, cleaving the shadow in half. He smiled. This time, he was ready.

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