"No, not hills at all, these are mountains, twenty miles by snow machine, surrounded by home, not my home, not home to any man or men, but the house of God, the hills have eyes and how can we deny what we see? I look into the sun-capped mountains and rolling plains, there is no place I have been, no wonder of the world I have seen, or no miracle I have witnessed greater than this place around me.
How can you or me or anyone deny God? How can we even imagine that this was an accident? Perhaps the works by Da Vinci, Rembrandt, and Michaelangelo were all accidents...but this is a masterpiece beyond those of the masters, Shakespeare never pieced a phrase worthy to describe the beauty in this land we live in, mountains and plains, rivers, the sun by day and a myriad of stars by night, we live, we breathe, we see how the fingers of God ran lightly down the mountains, we see how with a pinch of his thumb and index finger the peaks were formed.
And is this not his smile that caps the peaks? Fish swim up river and toss, breaking the surface tension and soaring through the air.
What then is the blush on the mountains at sundown? Is it not the love of God reminding us? With this beauty he reminds us of something more, not just hills formed by tectonic plates, or ocean waves formed by wind and gravity . This is the breath of God.
It is in these hills - these mountains, - that I find peace with He that created them and I.
The biggest miracle of all is of course this one-He created me. He created the mountains and ocean and stars and galaxies-and He created me.
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