Horeb. The mount of God.

Tucked inside a cave.

Called out by the word of the Lord.

Go out. Stand on the mount before the Lord.

He stands in the cave.


Expectant. Waiting.

But what comes is the unexpected.


Great and strong.

Tears and breaks.

Horeb trembles- pieces of the Mount of God fall around him, and he is covered in the dust and marked by sharp pieces. Blood trickles.

Empty wind.

He waits for God.

Still straight. Still expectant.

Once again, Horeb is shaken.

Tremors and quakes.


And more.

Meaningless, obnoxious shaking.

Dizzy. Bloody. Dusty.

Still waiting. Less straight.

Less expectant?


Hot. Orange. Searing.


Too much smoke and not enough air.

Choking, billowing smoke.

And reprieve.


Smoky and sweaty and dizzy and bloody and dusty.

Eyes of tears.

Patience grates.

Waiting hurts.


Then it comes.

It does.

A low whisper. Familiar.

Something inside him recognizes and responds to it.

Small and blessedly still.

But it fills. Fills the cracks and caves and him and the mount of God is covered with the quiet voice of God.

More powerful than everything else he has seen and felt.

It clears and cleanses and steadies and reassures.

He covers his face in his cloak.

Still smoky.

Steps out.

Bold and humble.

Out of the cave.

Into God.

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