The Lord Reigns in the Storm
The rain had been drilling into the sea for three days. It wasn’t a storm of wild, theatrical fury, but a steady, oppressive deluge that dissolved the horizon into a sheet of wet iron. Eliab’s small boat, the *Dawn Chaser*,…
From Dust to Dwelling
The wind here has a voice. It is not the gentle whisper that stirs the olive leaves in the vale of Rephaim, nor the cool breath that sweeps down from the Lebanon ranges at dusk. This is a dry, scraping…
The Voice Upon the Waters
The air in the high place tasted of cedar resin and old stone. Eliab had come here, to this rocky shoulder overlooking the vast plain, to be alone with his thoughts and with the silence. From here, he could see…
The Lord’s Tour of Creation
The air was thin and tasted of stone. Job sat on his ash-heap, not as a penitent now, but as a man hollowed out, a vessel waiting to be filled or shattered. The whirlwind had passed, leaving not silence, but…
The Sacred Caravan
The heat in Babylon that summer was a physical weight, a dry, dusty hand pressing down on the city of exile. For Ezra, the scribe, the heat was secondary to the fire burning in his own spirit. The decree of…
The Bronze Shields of Shame
The fifth year of Rehoboam’s reign, and the air over Jerusalem hung thick, not with the promise of rain, but with a different kind of heaviness. It was the stillness of presumption. The king, having secured his throne, having fortified…
The Keeper of the Unseen Gate
The dust of the return still clung to everything, a fine, persistent powder that settled in the folds of robes and lined the creases of weary hands. Jerusalem was a city of echoes—the echo of former glory, the echo of…
King of Dust and Curses
The road down from the Mount of Olives was a scar of dust and despair. David’s feet, shod in sandals worn thin, moved with the heavy, plodding rhythm of a man walking to his own tomb. The sound behind him…
The View from Pisgah
The air on the summit of Pisgah was thin, sharp as a flint knife, and carried the scent of distant rain from lands Moses would not touch. It was a cruel mercy, this view. Before him, unfurled like a divine…
The Long Turn North
The memory of those years is a weight in my bones. Not the sharp ache of battle, but the dull, grinding press of sun-bleached rock and dust that finds its way into everything—your bread, your sleep, your spirit. We had…