Proof The Bible Is True

On Easter morning, I will celebrate the glory of the Resurrection—but not in­side a church.

 

I’ll be standing by a cross on a hill­side, surrounded by sagebrush and ce­dar trees, miles from civilization in the foothills of northwest Colorado. With a handful of other early risers, I will brave the cold as the sun ascends over the distant snow-capped mountains.

 

After a Scripture is read, I will join in the singing of a hymn and feel a spe­cial closeness to the Creator as I em­brace the familiar comfort of this Eas­ter sunrise service. This is the church I have called home for many years. My church of the great outdoors.

 

Looking at the high desert foothills, you might think, “There’s nothing here.” I’ve had visitors ask, “Why do you live in the middle of nowhere?”

 

I could tell the long story of how I left the place where I grew up and drove hundreds of miles to this lone­some hillside, surrounded by thou­sands of acres of unpopulated public land. I could talk about my lifelong search for love, healing and belonging. Mostly I just say, “This is my church.”

 

Read More: The Great Outdoors Is Her Sanctuary – Guideposts