Last Saturday Morning: on the way to Love Field to catch a flight South to attend a funeral:

Most of my life I've bemoaned the fact that God has steadfastly refused to reveal himself to me. I postulated that if God really wanted me, and others, to acknowledge and accept his Glory and Might, he'd give us a sign, a real sign, BIG, NEON, flashing in the sky, Christmas Eve every year, or on Good Friday, or Easter morning, proclaiming his omnipotence with a message, in all the languages, something clear and to the point, like, "I'm the Almighty God, creator of the universe and King of Kings. You, and all you have, and all you know, you have and know at my pleasure." But, for over 50 years, no sign, nothing, nada, kaput.

Last Saturday morning, driving East I realized the signs had been there, all along, but invisible to my closed eyes and heart. I rose before dawn to catch a flight to Houston and for whatever reason, God set the sign in the heavens for me. As I made my way East, the ebony of the night sky eased into sapphire and steel gray clouds appeared as broad strokes splashed upon the bluing canvas of the sky. A few miles further and the horizon glowed lavendar and orange. As the bright orange disc of the sun slowly inched over the edge a raging inferno burst across the east and the steely clouds grew brilliant silver halos. So, on this Sabbath morn the signs were evident, my eyes were open and my heart permitted, and God's power and glory were there, for me to see or not, for me to hear, or not, and I saw and heard.