So I hear...
...from my friends who are writers that this adventure of writing goes in fits and starts. Inspiration can come and go, and there are periods of seemingly endless thoughts to jot down and yet there are times when those words to find are far and few between. Sometimes, there just isn't much to say.
The latter was the response I gave a reader who told me that she kept checking for new posts and there weren't any, and she didn't want to miss what came next. My last post, at least to me, seemed like a dropped bomb; it was one of my most read posts. What comes next. What comes next? That's a really good question.
Over the weekend a friend posted about a favored spot overlooking the ocean. I figured it wasn't easy to get to, but I'm up for an adventure, so I asked and was given a couple of key details that helped me find it. My Sunday afternoon plans with some girlfriends were cancelled at the last minute, and this seemed like just the kind of place I had been hoping to find: something that took some time to get to, that I couldn't just go quickly and then leave for being awkwardly by myself. This was far better.
Down a private road is a 2 mile up hill hike both ways, and in the middle is a lookout from the top of the hill. The first half of this trail seemed weirdly familiar, then it hit me: This place is identical to the location of a recurring dream I had over the years. I have never been here before. My eyes watered. Just a little. Well, maybe more than a little. Ok. I cried. I mean doesn't everyone just break down into tears when hiking? Small tired children, those out of shape ... I confess the latter is probable, but not the case. I have learned not to ignore these things. Uh okay. God, what are you trying to show me? What are you saying? Why is this significant?
I veered off the path for the overlook. I sat down on the bare granite slope and looked out. Those who know me I'm not one for doing things halfheartedly. One of the things I learned from both my parents is that when you are told to go in one direction, especially when traveling, you go further. You see the extraordinary. You see the hidden gems. You live to tell the stories of the road less traveled. You see things as they are, not as people want you to see them. Tourist traps are fine and dandy; they have their place, but they are no substitute for actually experiencing the land, immersion in the culture.
I could, in fact, stop here, enjoy the view and return to my car content with what I had seen. Or, OR. Yes, but wait, there's more.... I could continue on knowing that there was something so beautiful, so restful, so glorious, if I pressed on.
My quarantine 15 would have been quite content with turning back, but no, that wasn't what I was made for. That wasn't why I had come this far, to just give up. We aren't meant to just stop, giving up the promises of God, of life abundant, of indescribable peace, and an inexplicable joy. No, as Paul points out in his letters, we are meant to run the race before us, to build up endurance and press on; our prize is eternal. I don't just want to run the race, I want to run it well. I want to be immersed in the tangible presence. I want to press on, to see the full picture of the glimpses previously revealed in my dreams.
I went on to see that beach, where the sand is so full of mother-of-pearl and mica that it shimmers in the sunlight. Hear the sound of the waves crash, feel the coolness of the incoming tide, smell the fresh salty air, and watch the plovers dance along the waterline.
What I would have missed if I didn't continue down the hill to see what lay beyond the mountain top experience. What I would have missed had I sat on my derriere at home.
Be stirred,
Ruth