A Momentary Respite

I belong in the woods. Every time I leave them I feel like I've left part of my soul behind. I feel a peace amongst the trees that I don't feel anywhere else. There is a buoyant hope deep down inside that effortlessly rises to my surface. I feel more real, more alive, more in tune with God and the rest He is always inviting me to find in Him. My souls feels quiet. Even when my mind refuses to relax, on the whole I feel less anxious.

In my life I feel as if I've been tumbling. Tumbling down...down....down... some bump and boulder riddled hill with no end in sight. But now, as I sit in these woods on the back stoop of a cabin, I feel as though I've finally come to a stop. As I catch my breath on this earthen ledge overlooking the rocky descent below I know, without a doubt, that when I pack up my things and leave these trees tomorrow, I will tumble faster and faster down that hill with each mile I put between us. I'm powerless to stop it.



(I'm going to sit a little further back...)

Right now, here in these pines and white birches, I try not to think about that. I try to focus on the feel of the sun on my skin and the pine needles beneath my feet as I regain my equilibrium. I try to focus on the sound of the wind rustling through the leaves and strain to hear God's whispers in His creation. The latter proves a difficult task for me today as I struggle to quiet my mind despite all the peaceful feelings.  Like a mischievous cousin on a dock, I can feel the stresses of my life tiptoeing up behind me hoping to catch me unaware and push me over the edge. The worries of life are never far behind and the net they cast over my conscience is as effective at keeping them in as it is at keeping God out. Try as I might, even in my element, I can't quiet my inner monologue long enough to discover what God is trying to tell me. Granted, where I physically am at this moment is at a women's retreat and, just beyond these trees, all sorts of activities ensue. Loud ones, mostly. Tuning them out has not been possible today so I turned to writing, hoping that God would show up here. Maybe he has, though admittedly not in the way I'd hoped.

I came out here to quiet myself, try to gather closer to God, and to ask Him to speak to me on a significant life decision I'm struggling to make. Despite my efforts He either remains silent or I remain unable to hear Him. I honestly can't say which I believe it is. I'm desperate for an answer but, at this time, one does not seem forthcoming.

(Careful not to slip on those rocks...)

In my remaining time here I'm going to fight to stay on this peaceful precipice (and enjoy it), hoping against hope that His Spirit will stir and I'll be listening when it does. However, putting a human deadline on a Godly request is futile. God works within His timeline alone. Always.

So here I sit. It's the final morning and I'm no closer to my answer than I was when I came here, and that will have to be OK. There's been a lot of talk this weekend about releasing control (most of which we never had in the first place, though knowing that doesn't make releasing it any easier). Alas, I'll release control of my worries like a balloon and watch it sail up to the heavens on the wind of my prayers. God will answer me or He won't, that's up to Him. I will do my best to trust that He has my best interest in mind and that, even if I should return home to find that balloon tied to my front porch, He'll work out what's best for me despite that as well.

(Easy now, don't loose your footing...)

For now I'm going to focus on enjoying my last few hours in this beautiful place with these fabulous women and try my best to remain on this ledge as I set out on the long journey home. One thing is for sure, I will start falling again, and the terrain of this hill hasn't changed. However, this time I am strapping my trust in God  tightly around my psyche like a protective helmet. In the midst of the day to day it's hard to remember He's working everything out for my good, even if it feels so bad in the moment. Surrendering my (illusion of) control to God can feel anything but safe when I forget who He is and who I am to Him. Reminding myself of His faithfulness, power, and character helps me keep that helmet of trust firmly on my head. Scrapes, bruises, and broken bones are sure to come, but as His daughter I have His unending devotion and loving hand to guide me through the healing and onto the next patch of level ground. All I have to do is trust.