The Road, the Rain, and Revelation
\n\u2014a reflection told in the winds of Copper Harbor<\/p>\n
The morning rose behind a curtain of stormclouds\u2014no fanfare, no golden fanfare from the east, just a quiet gray that draped over the Keweenaw like a woolen shawl soaked in sorrow. I was on my way to Copper Harbor, winding through the hills where pines whisper secrets older than our country. The road, usually a ribbon of calm, had become a serpent in the rain\u2014slippery, coiled, and twitching with danger.<\/p>\n
The heavens had opened like a grief-stricken heart, the rain falling not in drops, but in sheets\u2014great veils of water slapping against the windshield as if trying to cleanse something I couldn\u2019t name. The wipers worked like preachers in a revival\u2014frenzied, relentless\u2014but even they couldn\u2019t keep up with the downpour. It was the kind of storm that makes the earth hold its breath.<\/p>\n
Lauren Daigle’s voice rose from the speakers like a psalm cracked open. Her notes wrapped around my ribs and pulled something loose. I sang with her\u2014not for show, not to pass time, but because the song had found something raw inside me. I didn\u2019t know whether I was praying or pleading. I only knew I felt seen.<\/p>\n
And then they appeared.<\/p>\n
A doe and her three fawns stepped from the treeline like ghosts pulled from the mist. They didn\u2019t run\u2014they arrived. Majestic, fragile, untouchable. The mother stopped dead in the center of the road, and the babies followed, delicate as thoughts not yet spoken.<\/p>\n
There was no time to think.<\/p>\n
I jerked the wheel hard, a move that should have sent me spinning into a tree or worse. But instead, the car slid into the ditch as smooth as butter across warm bread. No jolt. No crash. Just silence. I sat there, breathless, heart hammering like a warning bell in a lighthouse storm.<\/p>\n
“Fuckers!” I screamed\u2014not in rage, but in that strange place between fear and awe, where language spills from the gut instead of the tongue.<\/p>\n
I stepped out.<\/p>\n
The air smelled of pine needles and wet soil, ancient and alive. The deer didn\u2019t flee. They just looked at me. The smallest fawn\u2014no taller than my knee\u2014lifted its head. And I swear to you, it nodded. Not like an animal, but like a knowing. A gesture older than language. Then, one by one, they turned and slipped back into the woods as quietly as they had come.<\/p>\n
I stood there soaked to the bone, rooted in mud and mystery.<\/p>\n
It\u2019s in moments like this\u2014brief, blinding, holy\u2014that I wonder if God speaks not through thunder or scripture, but through the pause between heartbeats. Through a song on the radio. Through four sets of silent eyes on a lonely road in the rain.<\/p>\n
And sometimes, I believe\u2026 He does.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
The Road, the Rain, and Revelation \u2014a reflection told in the winds of Copper Harbor The morning rose behind a curtain of stormclouds\u2014no fanfare, no golden fanfare from the east, just a quiet gray that draped over the Keweenaw like a woolen shawl soaked in sorrow. I was on my way to Copper Harbor, winding … <\/p>\n