worship

Writing a letter about the retreat, Heather recalled something that I hadn't seen:

I remember T, the biggest man of the group, a tall, broad-shouldered, strong man, who gave off that calmness we associate with strong men; and who seemed to me to be one of the strongest spiritually as well. He had been hoping, out here in the country, for a clear night to see the stars; and when he got one, on Saturday night after the campfire, a couple of us were with him. He was on a search for a way back to his first love, the relationship with God he had had as a teenager; the stars made him feel God, he said.

I remember standing in that dark meadow, looking at the rising golden moon as he stood with his head back, looking at the still, white, immensely distant stars, and hearing him whisper, “I—I worship God.” Hearing how he said it from the depths of himself, an old awe returning to take him over again; a strong man knowing strength when he sees it, knowing true power, that which is immensely bigger than himself. The fear of the Lord.

I won't forget that.