I’ve been trying to be more intentional about pause,
about refreshment,
about figuring out what it means to rest…and then doing it.
(Or, in some cases, NOT doing whatever it is that isn’t restful.)
I’m recognizing how easy it is to neglect this kind of self-care, soul care. I want to be mindful every single day of the wonder of “the holy present,” but it's an unending challenge.
Ironically, this goal is particularly slippery for me to catch hold of on Sundays. Our household is deeply, (joyfully!) involved in the life/work of a faith community, and keeping track of “the holy present” can get lost in the shuffle of teaching, leading worship, preaching, connecting. Don’t misunderstand – it’s good stuff; it just gets a little crazy. And finding the way to pause and refresh isn't easy. Sometimes a nap just doesn't do it.
So, this week, we took to rambling.
My online Merriam Webster’s dictionary says a ramble is “a leisurely excursion for pleasure; especially: an aimless walk.”
Maybe our journey wasn’t truly a ramble, because we were in search of something. We just didn’t know quite what. But I think we found it.
We drove through autumn splendor, splashes of brilliant color that I didn't expect to see, not yet. (The first day of autumn isn't until Friday...and it still seems a bit like summer in my garden!? Oh, broccoli.)
Our original destination was the Stone Mountain Hawkwatch, but we missed the show for the day. “900 broad-winged hawks,” the spotter explained. His observation list continued:“four bald eagles, three ospreys, a harrier...oh, and ?? monarch butterflies.” (They migrate too! Individually, like the raptors, not in flocks like robins.)
But apparently the bird migration superhighway shuts down in the late afternoon, as temperatures drop and thermals cease so we watched but spotted only one broadwing who had apparently also taken a longer nap than he intended!
We thought we'd watch the sunset here, but the due west view was obscured by trees. And so, our destination of disappointment was the starting point for our next adventure. (I want to remember this life lesson...)
But apparently the bird migration superhighway shuts down in the late afternoon, as temperatures drop and thermals cease so we watched but spotted only one broadwing who had apparently also taken a longer nap than he intended!
We thought we'd watch the sunset here, but the due west view was obscured by trees. And so, our destination of disappointment was the starting point for our next adventure. (I want to remember this life lesson...)
We rambled behind the Hawkwatch on a path I'd never hiked; now I know it's part of the Standing Stone Trail. So much beauty surrounded us.
Mountain ash
the (trail) goes ever on and on, down from the door where it began...(with apologies to J.R.R. Tolkien)
And on and on and on...We stumbled upon a grand amphitheater from which to view the sunset. "Where am I," I wondered.
And who is Sausser?
Pile?!? The sign seems rather understated.
Seating options were myriad; the stadium was empty.
But you had to bring your own seat cushion.
And refreshments. Mmm. Sweet and salty.
Even without a sunset, the view was vast and varied. We were peering into the 'Shire as I've always imagined it, mellow and soft in the angled rays of deepening day. (Only our 'Shire was behind us...)
And then sunset.
Glorious.
Luminous.
Transcendent.
And I've run out of adjectives.....let the sunset speak.
"The heavens declare the glory of God, and the sky above proclaims His handiwork." (Psalm 19:1)
Glorious.
Luminous.
Transcendent.
And I've run out of adjectives.....let the sunset speak.
"The heavens declare the glory of God, and the sky above proclaims His handiwork." (Psalm 19:1)
The heavens declare...
God did this.
God is like this:
endlessly creative,
no two sunsets exactly the same,
and happening every minute around the globe.
All.the.time.
From a certain perspective,
sunset is continuous.
(Sunrise too...)
God did this.
God is like this:
endlessly creative,
no two sunsets exactly the same,
and happening every minute around the globe.
All.the.time.
From a certain perspective,
sunset is continuous.
(Sunrise too...)
My brain gets stuck right there, right here, and I simply breathe in deep.
The beauty.The peace.
The mystical tranquility.
The sun dips below the last cloud bank, the last mountain range. It's gone.
The beauty.The peace.
The mystical tranquility.
The sun dips below the last cloud bank, the last mountain range. It's gone.
The soundtrack of Late Summer Dusk is playing, louder now -we're surrounded by crickets and cicadas and intense katydids. Shadows fall across the 'Shire. Time to head home.
Roads go ever ever on
Under cloud and under star,
Yet feet that wandering have gone
Turn at last to home afar.
(from Bilbo's Walking Song in ch. 19 of The Hobbit by J.R.R. Tolkien)
Under cloud and under star,
Yet feet that wandering have gone
Turn at last to home afar.
(from Bilbo's Walking Song in ch. 19 of The Hobbit by J.R.R. Tolkien)
It's much darker as we re-enter the wooded path, and I wonder about nocturnal creatures awakening. We encounter only two, a large toad probably soaking in the last bit of rock warmth, and a porcupine hustling out of..."oops, who are you??" and rapidly back into an impossible slim rock crevice.
Right here, right now,
it's dark,
darker,
darkest,
but somewhere,
the heavens are
(still!)
telling the glory of God.
it's dark,
darker,
darkest,
but somewhere,
the heavens are
(still!)
telling the glory of God.
I want to keep listening...
HumminB
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