Mountain-Gazing

I’m sitting in the window seat of a coffee shop in Colorado. The view is stunning. Directly in front of me, mountain ranges stretch from left to right as far as I can see. It has been snowing on and off for the last 2 days and the sky is as white as the mountain peaks so that it is difficult to tell where one ends and the next begins.

I ran to Colorado to find some rest and peace. My soul’s been anxious and agitated for weeks now. I wanted to feel small in the shadow of these behemoths, and while I am breath-taken by these mountains and rest feels close, I am far from feeling small and even farther from peace. My problems followed me here and cling to my heart in the quiet falling of snow.

My heart is heavy like the snow drifts. Not despaired by any means — just heavy, dim, and chilly. I want to drown out the noise and listen to what has it’s hold there now. But that’s exactly the problem. It’s been brought to my attention several times recently that rest is something I lack. That silence and solitude have been long neglected by me. People who love me and want good things for me calling attention to some of my blind spots.

Except they aren’t blind spots, are they? It’s something I’ve known about myself for a while, yet even as I try to work on it, I never seem to improve. I fill my life with noise and busyness, and it’s all good things, but the good things are choking out all the quiet, and if I’m honest, I like it better that way. I like being around people. I like working. I like having coffee dates with friends, and watching movies together, and exploring new (and old) places in our favorite cities. It’s not that I don’t want quiet, it’s just that I don’t want it as much as I want these other things.

Yet even so, I see the toll it’s taking.

I told a friend before I left that I feel like I’m juggling so many things. I can only keep three balls in the air at a time, but someone keeps throwing in 4 or 5 and I just can’t do it all well. And the worst part is feeling like I failed others when I drop one of them. Someone is attached to that ball, someone is getting the short end of the stick, and while I wish it was just me, that’s not usually the case.

I look at the mountains in front of me and I’m praying to feel small. To feel insignificant. To feel the vastness of this earth and the one who created it and to put myself in right perspective. But the feeling isn’t coming and I can’t force it.

Fortunately feelings aren’t truth, and I can chose to believe in the vastness of the mountain-creator despite what my feelings say. The problem is I’m a 98% F on the Myers Briggs scale and my feelings seem as overwhelming as the slopes in front of me.

Brother Lawrence said he was quite aware of his faults but he was not discouraged by them. He faithfully confessed them to God but didn’t plead with God to excuse them. He just peaceably resumed his usual practice of love and adoration. (from The Practice of the Presence of God)

Another friend said to me recently that my conviction is from the Holy Spirit but the condemnation I walk in afterward is not.

Gosh, I’m so grateful for those kind words, I just haven’t figured out how to walk in them yet. I know part of the weight on my heart is the reality of my failures. I know another part of it is the sadness of letting go of some things that could have been in the wake of what is.

People told me before I came to Colorado not to try and leave my problems behind. They told me this was not an escape, but an opportunity to give my burdens to the Bearer. I don’t think I get to leave the mountains feeling like everything is repaired. I know nature is not an Easy Button to erase pain, but it does provide a new breath in my lungs and a bit of helpful distance from the hustle of life.

There is wisdom in Brother Lawrence’s words. I can keep my eyes fixed on my short-comings, or I can trust the blood of Jesus with them and try to walk forward in love.

Even as I write this I feel the fear set in. Like I said, and as it is with all of us, there are people attached to my short-comings. I feel the fear of trying to do better only to fail them again. I feel the fear that my efforts will not be good enough.

But perfect love casts out fear. Sometimes we have to stare into the face of our own self-condemnation and decide to walk anyway. We can trust that we don’t walk alone.

I look at the mountains, and I see the work of the Lord. The vastness of them and the beauty they reflect. I don’t feel as small as I’d hoped, and yet, I feel hope, and that is enough for now.