Magnificent is the mountain in the morning sunrise. Splendid is the forest in the miles of tree lines. Purple is the color for a royalty memoir. Distinguished is the feeling when God invented love.
An outstanding accomplishment cannot take place by happenstance. A vast covenant of commanding affection is behind the event. So magical is love when something grand is revealed, that the outcome reflects itself much like a miracle would. His majesty is magical in the production of his loving wonders.
Not even man can reproduce the miracles he makes. But as man may do, take credit for the majesty he sees.
Fog is the most difficult miracle to see through. But man will reproduce it as if he discovered how it works. To bear the truth of majestic things is to admit to self that those things are without strings. They are miracles of majestic style.
Something extraordinary is the result of nature bearing her gifts. But too many arrangements cause the soul to voyage about without catching a moment to glimpse. Puzzles and postcards are the only two forms man has developed to repeat the colors God creates. All else seems fake. And in passing without notice, in his majesty, he does not please every soul with his miracles.
When you dismiss the marks of majesty, you dismiss the art of living. Imagine if you will, what it would be if nothing majestic ever takes place? Maybe you are already at that place, who knows? Maybe the mountain is already washed from your mind.
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