A teacher once said: “When Moses had spent time with God, speaking with Him, and returned to the people, he would cover his face with a veil because his face was shining. Moses did not cover his face merely for the sake of the people. Rather, the radiance on his face was gradually fading after he had spoken with God and returned. So, perhaps he covered his face because he did not want the people to watch that light slowly diminish. They had seen the glory on his face, and he did not want them to become accustomed to seeing his face without that radiance.” How profound. Today, after a long time, I was given a brief opportunity to kneel before God and reflect. And I asked myself this question: “On what day did you stop being touched? Did you stop at the level of spiritual maturity you had reached, or are you still the same person you were back then?” I realized that, many times, just like Moses’ veil, I have remained behind the veil of my former spiritual life. There are people who still remember the day when I was deeply touched by God, but for me, the power of that light has been fading for a long time. I have been like a candle struggling against the wind, flickering in the darkness, barely holding on before its flame goes out. I have become increasingly distracted by the complicated entanglements of this world. I have neglected my appointments with my Lord, while continuing to rebuild and decorate my altar as though everything were still alive. How truly sorrowful I am. 😥 Perhaps I have finally understood something: The priests did not simply have the responsibility of making sure that the fire 🔥 on the altar never went out. Maybe the greater challenge was keeping that fire burning—rekindling it when it began to fade. And perhaps that is where I am today: Not without an altar, but in need of a fresh fire. Not without faith, but in need of renewal. Not without God, but in need of returning to Him.