Deep Breaths
Wednesday morning I headed north, toward the hills of Kentucky. The road ribboned its way past lakes and farms, through valleys and hamlets, over mountains and rivers. Three hours later, I arrived at my destination, the Abbey of Gethsemani. After I had registered my stay, the guestmaster took me on a short tour. He showed me my room, and then he pointed out the dining area, the library, the chapel, and the garden. As we stood in the midst of dead foliage in that barren winter garden, he turned toward the knolls, and with a sweep of his arm, added, “And out there, of course, are the trails. If you enjoy walking, feel free to explore them.” Through the whole tour, my gaze had continually been drawn to those trails. I now felt like a schoolgirl released as the final bell rings for summer vacation. My legs, my lungs, my heart longed for the hills.
It was hard to believe that just days before Cookeville had slumbered under a blanket of snow. This Wednesday afternoon in my remote Kentucky hideaway, a gentle breeze ran its ethereal fingers through my hair as I walked coatless in the warm sun. The path meandered over soft hills, past barley fields, alongside a quiet pond fed by gurgling streams and finally through sleepy woods waiting for the burst of spring. Sometimes I am absolutely amazed that such timeless places exist in a world so marred by hurry and cacophony. With each deep breath I took, I thanked the God of the Still Small Voice.
As I came out of the woods, the pond and fields and hills stretched out before me. They were magnificent in shades of brown. There was the gritty brown of the rock-strewn path, the ruddy brown of the muddy earth, the thick chocolate brown of the quiet pond, the soft golden brown of the fields and hills, and the ashen brown of the skyline trees. I thought about going to my car for my camera but I knew it would be no use. This screenplay would not translate well to film. For the most astonishing element in the primordial theater before me was not two-dimensional. What struck the chords of my heart was the silent twitching, an almost tangible palpitation, a scene pregnant with anticipation. I’ve watched similar dramas before and I know the lines that are coming. In a few weeks, the One who has hidden treasure beneath these muted shades will speak. That Voice will release the forces of spring that are straining to glorify their Maker. The colors of the universe will splash across the sepia stage. I stopped along the trail and basked in the warmth of the sun’s rays. Overcome with a sense of excitement and expectation, I marveled at the unfathomable depth of God’s wisdom and the breadcrumbs of understanding He drops for us along the way.
The whole earth groans, as one in childbirth. But not just for the in-breaking of the new season. Yes, in the weeks to come the transformation here in these Kentucky hills will be breathtaking. For the forsakenness of winter is but a shadow of the grandeur of spring. Each tiny sprout breaking through the unyielding soil holds within it the covenant of beauty, the promise of life abundant in exquisite array. But one day, the groaning will cease and all will pass away. Splendidly, a new heaven and a new earth will appear, and this world’s hues, as charming as they are, will pale in comparison. Everything we know of beauty and goodness will be amplified beyond measure.
How do I know this is true? Because not only has it been promised to us, but something similar has happened before. Years and years ago, the Living Eminent Word became flesh and dwelt among us. Before too long, evil crushed Him. Or so it thought. As the days past, the cosmos waited. The earth groaned under the burden of Goodness held within her bowels. The rocks of Jerusalem, still agitated from the quake that shook them when their Sovereign died, grumbled under the strain of waiting. The beating of hearts marked time as the heavenly host stood sentry. Then slowly, the sky blushed as the sun peaked over the horizon on Resurrection Sunday. Suddenly, all heaven and earth rejoiced as the ancient stone moved. The Maker of All, the Promised One, who the autumn of Good Friday had gone into slumber, emerged once again into a beautiful spring morning, walking out from the blackness of winter death. With the twinkling of the Son’s eye, everything changed.
So, as I breathe deeply of crisp wintry air, I remember that spring is coming. Because of Christ, I’m reminded that transformation is coming. That transformation begins with my heart. God looks on me, His Beloved, and loves me as I am. But He sees past the shades of brown, which while beautiful to Him, are only a shadow of the potential He has breathed in me and is patiently perfecting. Beyond this human heart, lies a fallen planet. God’s timeless vision, however, sees the Eden that it once was and will be again. In Him, all God’s promises are answered YES!
It was hard to believe that just days before Cookeville had slumbered under a blanket of snow. This Wednesday afternoon in my remote Kentucky hideaway, a gentle breeze ran its ethereal fingers through my hair as I walked coatless in the warm sun. The path meandered over soft hills, past barley fields, alongside a quiet pond fed by gurgling streams and finally through sleepy woods waiting for the burst of spring. Sometimes I am absolutely amazed that such timeless places exist in a world so marred by hurry and cacophony. With each deep breath I took, I thanked the God of the Still Small Voice.
As I came out of the woods, the pond and fields and hills stretched out before me. They were magnificent in shades of brown. There was the gritty brown of the rock-strewn path, the ruddy brown of the muddy earth, the thick chocolate brown of the quiet pond, the soft golden brown of the fields and hills, and the ashen brown of the skyline trees. I thought about going to my car for my camera but I knew it would be no use. This screenplay would not translate well to film. For the most astonishing element in the primordial theater before me was not two-dimensional. What struck the chords of my heart was the silent twitching, an almost tangible palpitation, a scene pregnant with anticipation. I’ve watched similar dramas before and I know the lines that are coming. In a few weeks, the One who has hidden treasure beneath these muted shades will speak. That Voice will release the forces of spring that are straining to glorify their Maker. The colors of the universe will splash across the sepia stage. I stopped along the trail and basked in the warmth of the sun’s rays. Overcome with a sense of excitement and expectation, I marveled at the unfathomable depth of God’s wisdom and the breadcrumbs of understanding He drops for us along the way.
The whole earth groans, as one in childbirth. But not just for the in-breaking of the new season. Yes, in the weeks to come the transformation here in these Kentucky hills will be breathtaking. For the forsakenness of winter is but a shadow of the grandeur of spring. Each tiny sprout breaking through the unyielding soil holds within it the covenant of beauty, the promise of life abundant in exquisite array. But one day, the groaning will cease and all will pass away. Splendidly, a new heaven and a new earth will appear, and this world’s hues, as charming as they are, will pale in comparison. Everything we know of beauty and goodness will be amplified beyond measure.
How do I know this is true? Because not only has it been promised to us, but something similar has happened before. Years and years ago, the Living Eminent Word became flesh and dwelt among us. Before too long, evil crushed Him. Or so it thought. As the days past, the cosmos waited. The earth groaned under the burden of Goodness held within her bowels. The rocks of Jerusalem, still agitated from the quake that shook them when their Sovereign died, grumbled under the strain of waiting. The beating of hearts marked time as the heavenly host stood sentry. Then slowly, the sky blushed as the sun peaked over the horizon on Resurrection Sunday. Suddenly, all heaven and earth rejoiced as the ancient stone moved. The Maker of All, the Promised One, who the autumn of Good Friday had gone into slumber, emerged once again into a beautiful spring morning, walking out from the blackness of winter death. With the twinkling of the Son’s eye, everything changed.
So, as I breathe deeply of crisp wintry air, I remember that spring is coming. Because of Christ, I’m reminded that transformation is coming. That transformation begins with my heart. God looks on me, His Beloved, and loves me as I am. But He sees past the shades of brown, which while beautiful to Him, are only a shadow of the potential He has breathed in me and is patiently perfecting. Beyond this human heart, lies a fallen planet. God’s timeless vision, however, sees the Eden that it once was and will be again. In Him, all God’s promises are answered YES!
posted by Kaye @ 5:37 AM
1 comments
