. . . all of that green growing life set in stone, rising roofless from the hillside. I’ve been remembering the arches lasting through the ages, lasting about as long as anything does this side of heaven. And I’ve been thinking of the rare gift of that place and that image. We were griping that day–about the monstrous inconvenience of having to drive into Wales just to get Harriet’s photo taken. Then God brought us into an unexpected place of stillness and indescribable beauty, where even the raindrops falling slowly from the clouds felt like a blessing from him, as indeed they were. It was worship to stand and feel them, shadowed by walls made with human hands but tall enough to suggest another Maker.