His voice rolls across canopies in a whisper. A thousand leaves rustle—clapping for the encore of His presence. The unseen stirs up still hands to sway and sing in a rhythmic dance. They sound of faint winds rushing from the east, of the long forgotten memory of Eden.
Trees sway to remember the joy of this ancestral dream. They remember when glory dripped down like dew from the air. They writhe with anticipation for the long awaited awakening of the innumerable offspring of God. The earth cries out with desperation to see their glory revealed, for the culling call of His spiritual wind to awaken them with life. In the wind, the forests foreshadow a more glorious day of a multitude of multitudes roaring in praise.
Who can withstand His focal wind unmoved? His spiritual flow manifests in the response of creation. The humble sway in celebration. The stiff-necked boughs come crashing down. As the tempest of Your voice approaches, I feel my spirit begin to sway. I am encompassed in Your living word.
His spiritual flow manifests in the response of creation. The humble sway in celebration. The stiff-necked boughs come crashing down.
Hear Him now! He rides out upon the wind; His word flies forth, flung as a whirlwind into the earth. His wind awakens all things. Like a train horn, His siren sounds. He is calling out in a continuous roar. As a piercing trumpet, He announces the hour of His arrival. To the forces of darkness, He heralds the dread of death; to those who believe in the name of His beloved Son, He sounds an anthem of love.
See Him now! The unseen eddies weave a chorus in the light. His songs surely show in all who are supple enough to bend, or brittle enough to break. His wind carries songs sung over my soul; suddenly, I am caught up in the wake. From the faint rushing roar, I hear a still small voice whispering…
“You are alive by the wind of God, spoken into existence, sung into being, born by the rushing pass of breath, by the impress of a spiritual wind. Your spirit is a living word, the name I formed for you alone. No one else can hear its whispering call or understand the depth of its destiny. A piece of My lung stirs in you.”
“A piece of My lung stirs in you.”
“Shout! For your life springs from My breath. Laugh for the lavished laugh that you are! You were summoned with eternal wind. A whisper of Me will awaken your soul to the memory of creation; a mere rumor will send you in a lifelong pursuit of My living presence.”
Is that why, when the wind walks across the trees, my spirit stands up and leaps, longing to be caught up in the carrying wind? Is that why, when I hear the faint roar of the hurricane, I know in peace You are near? Is that why, when I close my eyes and the wind rushes over my face, I feel the freedom my soul first felt when I was made? The wind holds the memory of my making; it is the memory of inspiration.
Holy Father, When will you come to awaken me with the wind again? When will you inspire my soul with the freshest fire of life? Holy Spirit, rush into my soul again.
8 The wind blows where it wishes and you hear the sound of it, but do not know where it comes from and where it is going; so is everyone who is born of the Spirit.”
2 And suddenly there came from heaven a noise like a violent rushing wind, and it filled the whole house where they were sitting.
19 For the anxious longing of the creation waits eagerly for the revealing of the sons of God.