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A Strange Hieroglyphic Script
What an extraordinary find! I was hiking in the Shadow Mountains outside of Pahrump, NV when my eyes were drawn to a slate tablet lying among a scattering of rocks. It caught my attention because it appeared to have some kind of hieroglyphic writing engraved in it, dissimilar to any Native American writing I had seen.
I took the tablet home and contemplated the script for several days. I could not identify the writing with any known language, ancient or contemporary. Then one day as I pondered the writing yet again, a light came on. I recognized the language, and should have perceived its origin at the start. I immediately began the process of translation. The words became clear; “Long ago these mountains were formed by My hand.”
The strange script was the language of God! In truth the writing appears all over the broad vistas the world, shouting, crying out, “The heavens declare the glory of God; and the firmament shows His handiwork. Day unto day utters speech, and night unto night reveals knowledge. There is no speech nor language where their voice is not heard. Their line has gone out through all the earth, and their words to the end of the world.” (Psalm 19:1-4 NKJV)
How Can One Help But Write?
As I climb in the desert mountains that surround this Mojave Desert town I see where the finger of God has written a grand story, and wonder of wonders, I am in the story. How can one help but write, for all of life is the stuff of story.
I would note that in the Spring Mountains to the east of town there are several places where early Native Americans told their story in hieroglyphs etched on canyon walls. As I climb the rocks and observe their writing I wonder about the authors’ personal stories—mystery!
When I consider my own family’s story there is much mystery. There are things I wonder about my grandparents, my great grandparents, and those who came before them—mystery. I would even like to know more about my own mom and dad. For my part, I have a trunk nearly filled with journals, my story. Will anyone ever read them? Who knows? I also live within the pages of many of my fictional stories.
Where do you see the finger of God writing story? Do you document your story? Have your ancestors documented their stories?
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