Sea of Tranquility

I nudge my scrawny, 10-year-old body between two spruce trees, avoiding the prickles and dead twigs protruding from the bottom, and I pause.  I see a carpet of green grass, ringed completely by evergreens so thick that it is difficult to see past, and tricky to navigate on foot.  I allow the safety of this place, its beauty and quietness, to seep into my tired spirit.

My brother had shown this place to me a few years previous.  He called it the "Sea of Tranquility" - named after the same place on the moon - a flat place which was ringed in, protected.  I had visited here several times since.  

I pad silently into the circle.  The summer breeze plays 'in and out the window' between my bare, scabbed knees, war scars from learning to ride a bike.  There is just enough breeze to keep the mosquitoes away.  The sun soaks heat and restoration into my skin.  Here, the only sounds are the distant chirping of a cricket, the buzz of a couple of grasshoppers singing to each other, and the occasional bird chirping from one of the trees.  So peaceful.  So different.  

I lie down on my back, and lift my thoughts above.  The clouds are playing slow-motion tag, and I watch the birds swooping to catch flies on the fly, above me. My tense muscles start to unclench.  My soul drinks Creation in, like a desert traveler coming upon a natural spring.  Yet in the back of my mind I tell myself, "Mustn't stay here long.  She'll wonder ... and then I'll be in for it."  

The uncut grass blades tickle the backs of my legs.  I rub my calves together to take the prickling feeling away.  Slowly, the miracle of Nature soothes my thoughts, salves my troubles, and gives me just a little more strength.  The mental straitjacket loosens enough for me to catch a breath of the divine.  I allow myself to feel the caress of comfort.  I am not aware that I have begun to smile until a few minutes later, when I catch myself doing it. I close my eyes.

I hear a dog bark; it jolts me from my reverie.  I don't know how long I've been here, but my stomach lurches suddenly in panic.  Not because of the dog; I know all the dogs and they like me.  Not like her.  

I roll over onto one elbow and tuck my knees under me, rocking back onto my feet again.  I take one last look around and fill my lungs with freedom, enough to last me until the next time.  As I breathe out, my spirit says "Thank You," and my heart is resigned to what awaits me.  I tighten the straps around my heart once again, and squeeze past the trees, heading back the way I came.

I don't Juan no more

September 29, 2003 dawned just the same as any other day for us.  We hadn't listened to the news or seen a newspaper for nearly a week, so we had no idea what we'd see when we looked out our window.  That's strange, we thought as we lay in bed and saw that the alarm clock showed no display.  The power is off. There must have been a storm last night.  In fact, it was still raining hard - and man-oh-man, was it windy!

The leading edge of Hurricane Juan had whirled through our picturesque Island in the early hours of that morning, already having left devastation in his wake in Nova Scotia, to wreak havoc here.  The scene out our picture window, which only the previous day was comforting with large mature maples, a lilac tree, and an uncluttered lawn, was transformed into a wasteland.  The large maple in the centre of the yard - an old friend who had sheltered my privacy and kept me company when I went sunbathing, who had bounced my children on its strong limbs as they learned to climb, was twisted like a matchstick, two-thirds of the tree lying on its side ... heavily and helplessly.  Similar scenes awaited us as we looked out other windows.  

The rain was still coming down in what seemed like cupfuls.  The gutters were overflowing.  We headed out into the elements - I held the ladder to keep it from being blown over, and hubby went up to the eaves and dug out the leaf and dirt-filled metal gutters, which he'd only cleaned about a week or two previous. We were both drenched when we came in ten minutes later.  

We were blessed not to have had more damage considering that we had a total of eleven shade trees on our property and any one of those large branches could have come flying through that picture window.  One almost did reach it, snagged about four feet away from the living room window, about seven feet off the ground, by the crook of a branch that was in the tree closest to the house.  And as the sun came out and we surveyed the damage, grief at losing three of those trees mixed with gratitude that we hadn't lost more - much more.

Fortunately for us as well, the Tim Hortons about 3 minutes down the road from us was open and had a generator - and the road was relatively clear between here and there.  We had not yet been hooked up to the town water and sewer, so we were relying on our well and (electric) pump.  We were therefore unable to use our own bathroom.  So we became Timmy's most frequent uh, customers for three days until the power came back on.  And - in spite of the loss we felt - we considered ourselves fortunate.  Some people in nearby Nova Scotia lost parts of their homes - washed away in the storm surge - and were without power for well over two weeks.  

The Public Gardens after Juan: Sept 29, 2003
Source of this photo:
http://emblogificationcapturedevice.blogspot.com/
2010/09/juan-another-hurricane-um-no-thanks.html

Since that time, during hurricane season, I regularly visit a site I never knew existed before Juan.  It's The National Hurricane Centre - (here's the link).  

I found myself wondering at some point what useful purpose could be served by hurricanes anyway.  So I did a little research. The results made me appreciate even more than I already did, the way our world is designed.

Meteorologists tell us that during the summer months, the sun beats down on the tropical waters.  The water absorbs the considerable heat.  A hurricane is a huge heat-reducing mechanism by which the excess heat mixes with the nearby moist warm air and transfers it back up to the atmosphere by condensing enormous amounts of water vapour.  As it does, the heat is mostly released upward in the core (the eye of the storm), which lowers the air pressure very quickly, and speeds up the wind around it.  In essence, it is the earth's way of getting rid of a fever.  Unfortunately, it also has the side-effect of causing a lot of destruction if it comes in contact with people or the things with which we've surrounded ourselves.  

I don't want another hurricane to come that close to us again.  I hate the devastation that such a storm can leave behind, the lives that are lost or turned upside down because of one.  However, I understand that these things happen and that they do have a larger purpose - making the planet more liveable in general.  So when I see that one is headed in our general direction, I like to make sure we are as prepared as we can be - and trust the outcome to the Master Designer. 

Walking Together

One of my favorite things to do is to take a walk in the woods, preferably hand in hand with my hubby. We used to do that a lot before the demands of family pulled us away from those simple pleasures. Now, whenever it happens, we appreciate it even more and make every moment count.

On walks in the woods we've seen squirrels, rabbits, jays, even a woodpecker once. When we talked, we spoke about important things of the heart, planned for the future, celebrated the present, reminisced over delicious memories.

Always the trees bore silent witness to our trysting.

Looking out the living room window this morning and seeing the sun filter through the maple branches, I found my thoughts drifting to those sweet moments, captured amid the heady fragrance of pine needles and autumn leaves, with no sound other than our own breathing, the crunch and occasional twig-snap of our footsteps, and the voices of the animals and birds with whom we shared our ramblings. That's a picture of close communion, one which needs no words. Sometimes, we would use words - but often we would just enjoy each other's company and bask together in the beauty all around us.

I like to think that fellowship with God is like that. Carving out time - just to be together. Just because He loves us, and we love Him back. Time spent exclusively with Him - no agendas, no demands, no posturing. Just Him. Just enjoying His presence, listening to His heart, learning to recognize His voice, appreciating all He is, all He does. And making plans to do it again.

Everyday miracles - miracles every day

I was listening to All the Power you Need on a Hillsong worship CD just today. Just what I needed to hear!! Part of the song goes, "He saves, forgives and heals, takes back what the devil steals. My debt's been paid in full, and ev'ry day He does miracles!" It reminded me to check my GQ. Gratitude Quotient.

Every breath I take is a gift from Him. It's a miracle I get up every morning. All day long, what might be termed "mini-miracles" happen on a regular basis. The sound of a mourning dove cooing just as I go outside in the summer sun. An email - not a forward - arriving just when I need to know someone's in my corner. Something mentioned or explored in a daily reading. A kind person in traffic. One of my kids doing the dishes or putting his or her clothes in the hamper. An unexpected hug. A smile. A song. A sunset. A rosebush in full bloom.

All of these things, gifts from One who loves me and wants the best for me.

Wow!