His whisper sounds like a quiet rain falling against the trees, as each drop creates a chorus of conversation. But I cannot find anyone in the forest who will listen. And as I walk along a winding path, I begin to wonder if I myself can even hear him. So I stop. And in the thick of it all, He speaks.
"As the deer pants for streams of water,
so my soul pants for you, my God.
My soul thirsts for God, for the living God.
When can I go and meet with God?"
-Psalm 42:1,2
3 weeks ago
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