I felt like a little kid when, on a recent flight from Ohio to California, I snagged a window seat. I’d look out and pretend that I knew where we were, saying funny-only-to-me things like, “Oh, that field must surely be Kansas.” ⠀ ⠀ When we approached the Rocky Mountains, my front row seat from miles above offered a view of their gradual rising up from the vast flatness. They grew, then crested, reaching toward the sky with white caps that appeared touchable from my window seat. I almost smashed my nose against the window, straining to see as much as I could as we coasted above them.⠀ ⠀ Then I looked around the cabin of the plane. Was anyone seeing this? Could I share this moment of adoration of what lies below with someone? ⠀ ⠀ But those around me all had their heads down reading, or their eyes closed, or their gazes fixed on the movie screens in front of them. As I searched the rows for another "mountain-noticer," I wanted to stand up and say: “Look! Look at what’s below us! Look at this beauty! This majesty! You’re missing it!” ⠀ ⠀ I felt a bit crazy. Could I be the only person having this moment of blessing? ⠀ ⠀ That’s when the Lord spoke to my soul. This moment of awe and admiration was mine—to share with Him. He knew I’d notice those mountains. He was waiting for me to rejoice in them. He anticipated it. It was like they were a gift for me, just for that moment. He had planned long ago to share that view with me on that very day, at that very instant. ⠀ ⠀ So I stared out quietly, tears in my eyes, clinging to this view, knowing it would soon be behind me. But I also knew that I would remember these mountains. For even if my memory of that landscape is but a fragment of the fullness with which God sees them, I won’t forget sharing in their magnificence with Him.
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