Then, even as the ground is still warm from that holy flame, I am suddenly very afraid. I fear that it will not be as He said—that He could not be who He says. And I run. I am exhausted. But then—perhaps, especially then—He is there, with bread warming on the coals and a jug of crisp, cool water. And, in that long journey, comes His gentle, quiet whisper.
And I remember. And I rest. I rest.
(Image: Elias in der Wüste—or Elijah in the wilderness—by Washington Allston via Wikipedia)