The winds are blowing through the Indiana hills.
Like the winds blow,
Holy Spirit blow through my heart.
Blow out the trash and scars
that build up like dead leaves in the fall,
wet and cold,
and laying there with no purpose.
The Indiana wind is no gentle breeze,
but full-throated gusts,
pushing me sideways in the sunshine.
In the same way, Spirit blow strong,
uprooting the dead trees,
blowing down the dead branches
while the trees of life,
deeply rooted,
speak your name
in the rustle of their leaves.
Only Wonder Understands 