My God is a constant.
Through an incessant flickering of transients too numerous to compute,
from people and places, to promises forgotten–
I see the Lord high and lifted up,
sitting on His throne.
He never changes.
Comforting when that truth is driven home.
Almost overwhelming when it’s driven home by faithful, albeit frail human flesh.
This evening I rejoice in the mercy of just such faithfulness.
My sister’s head resting on my shoulder; from my mouth come words quoted from a cherished tale of Huguenot fidelity:
“‘The stars do not change, Monsieur…'”
and my little sister finishes:
“‘Nor do the angels in Paradise.”