The mountain was quiet except for the sound of our own breathing. The air felt thinner here, crisp and cool against our skin. Sunlight spilled across the rocks, catching in little flashes on the edges of Peter’s hair as he stepped ahead. One could smell the sharp, clean scent of the high place. Then, without warning, the light shifted. It was no longer the gentle warmth of the afternoon sun. It was radiance, blinding and beautiful. Jesus stood before them, His clothes gleaming white like no launderer on earth could ever make them. His face shone as though it were lit from within, as if heaven itself had cracked open.

The Story

Peter, James, and John had followed Jesus up the mountain many times before, but this time was different. One moment, they were squinting against the bright sky, and the next, they were shielding their eyes from a glory they had never seen. Beside Jesus appeared Moses and Elijah, the great figures of their faith, talking with Him as though they were old friends reunited. Imagine the sound of their voices, centuries of longing and prophecy meeting their fulfillment.

Peter, being Peter, blurted out, “Lord, it is good for us to be here. If you want, I will put up three shelters; one for You, one for Moses, and one for Elijah.” He wanted to hold onto the moment, to build something permanent around it. But before his plan could go anywhere, a cloud descended, thick and bright. From within came a voice, steady and strong: “This is my Son, whom I love. Listen to Him.”

And just like that, it was over. The light faded, the cloud lifted, and it was just Jesus again. No blinding glory. No heavenly guests. Just the Teacher they had walked with for miles, dust on His sandals, eyes still full of love.

Reflection and Connection

I think about how much of life is like that; flashes of glory followed by ordinary days. The laundry still needs folding, dinner still needs cooking, emails still need answering. We long to live in the mountaintop moments, but most of our lives are lived on the path back down. Yet the memory of the light changes us. It reminds us of who He is when we can’t see the brightness.

I wonder if Peter ever thought back to that moment while sitting in the dim light of a fishing boat or while sharing a meal with strangers. I know I would have. I think I would have carried it like a secret ember in my chest, something to warm me in the middle of the night when the questions felt bigger than the answers.

The Bigger Picture

Sometimes the glory of God looks like the sunrise over the ocean or the whisper of a friend’s prayer. Sometimes it is blinding and holy, impossible to miss. Other times it is hidden in the ordinary, waiting for us to notice. The Transfiguration reminds me that whether I am standing on the mountain or walking through the valley, the same Jesus is with me. The light may fade from my sight, but it never fades from Him. And when the path feels long and the world feels dim, I can remember the voice from the cloud; steady, loving, unshakable … telling me to listen to Him.

Gracefully yours,

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