A quiet meadow full of wildflowers, with the white church standing small in the distance. It puts me in mind of how steady the faith feels even when the world looks wide and empty.

The old prayer book lies open by candlelight, its pages worn from years of use. Makes me think of all the quiet evenings it has seen, steady as ever.

The road to the village church looks peaceful this evening. The light at sunset makes the whole scene feel quiet and steady.

That old bell tower still has the peeling red paint from the 1950s, and the copper dome catches the last light just like it did the day I was baptized. It’s been calling us to prayer long before my grandfather’s time, and it still does.