My busyness, whether that which comes with life’s seasons or that which I bring upon myself, robs me of my wonder and my joy. What I know with my head isn’t always consistent with what I do with my time, too often frittering it away as I confuse activity with effectiveness. I know this is true and I see the folly, but why don’t I translate that knowledge into the action of proaction, of margin and space, of quiet and reflection? I think that for me, there are several answers to the question and as these thoughts percolate in my mind, ideas gradually become coherent. There is much there, but it is still mostly hidden from me, like these roots.
This is a quiet afternoon. I am between storms and the day is fading. I take my camera and a notebook and resolve to think and observe, even if just for a little while. This space between years, when holiday festivities have faded and all is ending and beginning, is an appropriate time. I’m captivated by paths that lead somewhere, but remain obscure until we travel down them. I feel that longing in my soul.
Part of this exercise is taking the time to observe those things that are always present, yet go unnoticed. The variegated leaf of the roadside shrub, the colorful sentinel keeping watch, the blue water, hickory, the discarded nuisance that hasn’t made it to the trash bin. Things that I’ve driven by a thousand times. Reminders that there’s beauty in all things.
I reflect on these things and the passing of another Christmas. The hype and commercialization that accompany things once sacred but now overwhelmingly secular has moved on to the next sales event. But I still pause to consider that the lights which brighten our homes and yards speak to us of the Light of the World come to bring reconciliation and restoration to those of us who are broken and lost. And I am grateful for it.
And while we’re still stained by the sins we struggle with, we live with hope and retain the nobility of men and women created in the image of God. Beauty; marred but still beautiful.
We are rainbows, muted, but still alive.
And unique, each one.
I notice roots again. They remind me that there are cords of experience and personality that hold us together and provide cohesiveness to our lives. Whether good or bad, they are as much a part of who we are as the tree is part of the ground.
I continue on past another quiet observer and and pause to take a picture. His eye always glowing to my eyes, yet in one photo he blinks. I never saw it happen.
My walk ends at the water’s edge. Water is therapeutic for me. It’s been raining and the lake is swollen, pouring through the runoff drains and as it does, it distorts and reflects it’s surroundings. I wonder how my busyness does the same to me.
A pause for a moment in time.
The difference between slowing down to observe…
And hastily speeding on by.
And at this place, I’m reminded that it’s the work of the developer’s hands that created this place. Without the pieces of iron and steel, functional and scrap, this lake would be nothing more than a creek bed that came alive in the rain.
So it is good to walk and think; observe and reflect. And I resolve to walk more and observe more and reflect more in 2015.
