In Colossians 3, Paul admonishes us to set our mind on the things above, not on the things that are on earth. That's problematic, because no human is able to directly perceive the things above. Our senses are filled with things that are on earth, and our brains are exquisitely attuned to pleasure. Life here consumes our attention and our affections.
But why shouldn't our lives here be worthy of our full attention? We can't see or clearly imagine the things above. We would be hard-pressed to even name them, although if Paul asked me to make a list, Jesus and God the Father would be right at the top, along with angels hovering in a throne room. I can't picture those angels, however. With their bizarre configurations of eyes and wings, Old Testament angels don't resemble humans. Perhaps it would be easier to meditate on abstractions like faith, hope, and love or to visualize the saints who have gone before.
What's here with me now is a cup of steaming coffee, with cream and sugar. A half-eaten bag of Dorito corn chips, irresistibly crunchy and delicious. A fresh breeze lifting the edges of the curtain at my window. The memory of a doe, heavy with this year's unborn fawn, nosing through the grass outside my gate in search of acorns. A nondescript little flycatcher bouncing along cheerily through the weeds. The sound of a dog barking in the distance.
The wind swaying through the limbs of the junipers outside may be reminiscent of the movement of the Holy Ghost (that's how Jesus would have seen it) but as nearly as I can tell for now, the wind is simply the wind.
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