(Another English journal entry)
My backyard has never seemed like solace before, until now, the last three weeks of school. Just to escape from my desk in the cluttered office, or the dining room table where dogs wrestle under my feet, coming outside is a return to life for me, even if it's into my tamed backyard.
The rain sprinkling down unnoticed (until it finds the tip of my pen) isn't going to stop me, for there's life in the rain as well. Besides, the sliding glass door opened all the way, a chair in the opening, and me on it doesn't seem to separate me as much. I can still smell the air, I can still feel the morning breeze, I can still see unimpeded by glass and conditioned air, I can still hear the mad symphony being played by unseen musicians in the trees.
Be Still.
I wonder how it is that spending one clouded morning on my back deck gives more peace than the previous weekend in the mountains. I went to the mountains looking for something; answers. At the great cost of disturbing my expectations of peace, I got them. Answers to facilitation of my calling, which has been weighing heavily on my mind, almost to the point of distraction.
Maybe peace comes from within.
I couldn't relax in the mountains, because I had so much on my mind. Even when I had time to be alone, to think, any appreciation for my view was tainted by my thoughts, my worries, my questions.
Despite the setting, (which I'm sure may have been chosen to illicit choices and responses out of the sheer magnitude of the beauty surrounding us) nature couldn't be the manipulator here.
What good is a lake in the mountains if all you can do is look at it? Looking at it does nothing but awaken the desire to be in it. To be on the water, whether fishing or playing, swimming or boating; to be on the mountain, hiking or camping, or just sitting and breathing.
If not intimate and up close, it all looks the same.
It wasn't until I stole away one morning to the lake shore that I was able to find the peace I sought. Sitting on the shore, not three feet from the water's edge, I was overwhelmed by God, who showed me the lake as a metaphor for the human life.
I couldn't write fast enough, the time slipped away from me, and all of a sudden, the clock and the schedule, (the actual reason I was in the mountains) trumped my moment, my observations.
I've learned more about humanity by observing nature that I ever thought possible, fleshed out with words to a world that won't listen, for the words fall on ears distracted by the high-pitched whine of selfishness and comfort.
My backyard is coming to life.
The baby leaves birthed onto bare branches nestled in with the monotony of the pines remind me to look for life among the masses, in the midst of the conformity, among the lives that all look the same from a distance. Some will bear fruit, such as the persimmon trees, some will offer shade, some flower extravagantly, and some just put forth seed.
But all of them, together, make up and describe the landscape of my life.
