Anxious Thoughts

I went for a short walk tonight after dark. It was a beautiful, cold winter night. The coming snowstorm hadn't yet blotted out the stars. The snow creaked sharply under my boots. The woods were perfectly still, as though the trees were holding their breath. It was a beautiful night.

And yet, some of the beauty was lost on me, because of the uneasiness that comes with being alone in the dark. The last time I went for a nighttime walk, I had a strong brother with me, and thought hardly a moment about my safety. But now, my ears were strained for the noise of footsteps behind me, my eyes searched the snowy landscape. Why the difference? Was it that there were more dangers tonight? No, of course not. Was it that before, I was sure my brother could defend me from every possible danger or combination of threats? No, I knew he would do everything within his power to keep me safe, but surely there are some dangers that no man can ward off singlehandedly. I think the difference was that tonight, the responsibility of my safety rested in my hands, whereas before, I trusted my brother entirely to protect me. It was his responsibility, and so I didn't think a moment about it, but thoroughly enjoyed tramping about in the snow.

I wonder why it is that, though I can trust a human being so completely, I struggle to entrust myself utterly to God. Why, when I begin to worry about something, can I not remember, "It's His responsibility," and trust Him so fully that I forget to be anxious? I sure would enjoy the walk more.

Last night I was struck by the last two verses of Psalm 139, especially the phrase, "Try me and know my anxious thoughts." Why did the psalmist ask God to know his anxious thoughts? Why not his sorrowful thoughts, his perplexed thoughts, his wrong thoughts?

Could it be that David recognized that his anxious thoughts were the keys to the real issues of his life, the things that were important to him? If I want a summary of my priorities, all I have to do is notice the things that I'm being anxious about. Am I anxious for my success, my reputation, my glory, my comfort? Then those are my priorities. Am I anxious for God's glory, for the success of His work, for souls to be saved and Christians to grow in the Lord? Then perhaps those are my priorities. But wait! Does God really want me to be anxious about even those things? True, He wants me to desire the things He desires, and perhaps to have fellowship with Him in sorrowing over the things that break His heart. But has He not also said, "Be anxious for nothing," "casting all your anxiety upon Him, because He cares for you."?

Imagine what it would be like to live with absolutely no anxiety! No anxiety over big things, decisions I must make or challenges I face. No anxiety over little things, how to organize my day, or whether I'll be able to reach the store before it closes. No anxiety over the things that will happen, no anxiety about the things that could happen. No anxiety about the snowstorm that's coming tomorrow, or about the gas prices going up. No anxiety about the direction in which the new administration will take our country. No anxiety about the traffic lights that turn red just before I get to them. No anxiety about what others will think of me. No anxiety about anything.

"But," we find ourselves saying, "I'm not really anxious about those things. Just concerned, trying to be responsible." People who are responsible, make sure that responsibilities are given to the people who can handle them. I can't do a thing about the weather, nor about the traffic lights, nor about the gas prices. And with so many of the other things I get anxious about, there are some actions that I can and should take, but then my job is just to give it to the One Who is ultimately responsible for them. He loves to bear our burdens, and He doesn't need our help to bear His. We can be glad for everything that is beyond our power, because that means that it's His responsibility. We get to simply enjoy the walk!

Winter

Today was just gorgeous; despite the chilling temperatures, I was soon lured outside with my camera to try to capture some of the splendor. No profound thoughts to go with them today. :)

This is a bad picture artistically, but isn't there something wonderful about birds singing among the icicles?

Ice Meets Sunshine

(and don't bother trying to figure out how to cock your head...I took it at a funky angle)

Afire with God

Some great excerpts from an essay written by John Macbeath, which I found in What a Friend We Have In Jesus.

The sweet singers of Israel saw God in everything....to them the earth was crammed with heaven, and every common bush afire with God. "Study nature," urged Kingsley, "do not study nature for its own sake, but as the countenance of God. Try to extract every line of beauty, every association, every moral reflection, every inexpressible feeling from it. Adore God!"

It would be impossible for us to tell how much of the merit we find in nature is to be attributed to the knowledge of life and of God which we have derived from Jesus Christ. An honest investigation would prove that appart from the teaching of Christ and His influence on human thought, we should find nature to be a very inadequate instructor. Nature, without Christ, does not offer intelligent and intimate communion with the Unseen. No one can say that he is acquainted with an artist because he admires the artist's workmanship....A whole world of progress lies between these two points of expression, "The heavens declare the glory of God," and "The glory of God in the face of Jesus Christ." The one indicates greatness, the other expresses grace. The first exhibits power, the second presents personality. The former is material, the latter is spiritual....

There is no remoteness in God. He enjoys the world down to the last rose of summer or the last swallow in flight, and above all He loves man. The Old Testament celebrates the glory of creation when the morning stars sang together and all the sons of God shouted for joy. The New Testament heralds the glory of God's redemption, "There is joy in the presence of the angels of God over one sinner that repenteth." That is the music of an infinitely mightier and sweeter song. --The Face of Christ (London: Marshall Morgan and Scott, 1935), What a Friend We Have in Jesus, (Gospel Folio Press, 2003)

A view of the fading sunset through some of the icicles that adorn our eaves.

Religous?

Well, this post doesn't really have anything to do with nature...except that it kind of grew out of my evening ski through the fields tonight. 'Twas a splendid evening out there!

Often when I speak with people about spiritual things, they comment, “I’m not religious.” Usually I say something like, “Oh, I’m not either, I just believe the Bible and have a relationship with God through Jesus Christ.”

But I wonder if I should answer differently. Maybe I am religious after all. Is it religion to have a friend who loves you, and whom you love? A friend whom you love to think about, and who loves to think about you? A friend who lives daily life with you, who knows and really cares what you’re going through? Then I am religious, because God is that Friend to me.

Is it religion for a girl to read and re-read and read again, letters from a lover who must for a time be separated? To find in every word and stroke of the pen, reference to the character of her beloved? To memorize his words of love to her? Then I am religious, because the Bible is a love letter to me.

Is it religion for a child to climb up on her daddy’s lap, and sob on his shoulder because of the things that hurt her and which she can’t understand? Then I am religious, because God is that Father to me.

Is it religion to tell a friend the things that are on your mind, to ask for some of their wisdom, to prattle on about all the events of your day, knowing that the friend wants to hear it? Then I am religious, because prayer is the only way that I have to express some of my thoughts and emotions.

Is it religion to heed the warnings, and follow the instructions, of one who is wiser than you? Then I am religious, because God’s commandments are the teachings that I try to observe.
Is it religion to attend a gathering to celebrate the accomplishments of a mutual friend? To rehearse the ways in which that friend has excelled, to rejoice together in his successes and the nobility of his character? Then I am religious, because I gather once a week with other believers in the Lord Jesus, to remember together everything that He has done for us, and just how wonderful He is.

Is it religion to believe one who has always been faithful, and to take his word over that of other people—who have been known to make mistakes or fail? Then I am religious, because I have staked everything upon God’s word.

Is it religion to tell other people about the one who has made your life bright and full of joy and love? Then I am religious, because there’s no other cause that would induce me to risk the ridicule and scorn of those who don’t yet know my Savior.

So I guess maybe I am religious after all, if that’s the kind of life that you would consider religious. But wait—you said you aren’t?

Dawn

Friday, 1/9/09
This morning I went for a walk to see the sunrise and take pictures. It was quite cold, around 12 degrees. There was a hint of pink in the sky as I tramped out, along the road to the orchard. I followed the tractor ruts in the snow, trying not to get my boots full of snow. They went out to the woods pasture and back to the bottom of the hill where we camped in the summer. The heifers turned to look at me as I went by, but other than that, I was alone. Apparently I didn’t need to be in quite such a rush to get out there, because the sun was a long time in rising. I stood watching the grey clouds, which covered most of the sky, but were slit apart at the horizon, where that glimmer of pink intensified very slowly.

Behind me, the forest whispered and rustled, as though the night was gathering up its skirts to sneak away before the sun could catch it. I took some pictures, but it was so hard to capture the frigid greys and whites in my camera. Getting chilly, I decided to walk down to the pond, but because I didn’t want to mar the suave whiteness of new-fallen snow, I traced the paths of the wild things who had been before me. It was fascinating how their tracks converged and diverged, swirling here and there to pursue some interesting scent. Down to the pond they went eventually, where the ice was covered with a riotous networks of tracks. One could just imagine all the animals, small, medium, and large, dancing around on the ice.
As I traced my way up the hill, the eastern horizon was becoming more and more golden bright, and the clouds were now almost entirely swept from the sky. As I stood at the top of the hill, all of a sudden, with the exuberance of a surprise arrival, the sun dawned. The landscape, once so cold and flat in the grey light, was now dazzling with golden light, shades of pink, and billions of sparkling snow diamonds.

The morning air was fresh and alive, and the whole world seemed to be rejoicing. I felt like a child on Christmas morning who can’t decide what new toy to play with first. Everywhere I looked was beauty, and although I did my best, I knew that there was no way my pictures would be able to capture it. The landscape was too vast, the light too brilliant, the contrasts too dramatic, the glory too inexpressible—and finally, the time was too short.

As I went back indoors, I thought what a glorious picture of hope I had just experienced. The night had seemed unending, the cold so heartless, and the sky, which held the only hope of light and warmth, was cloudy and dull. But then—suddenly, gloriously, the sun rose. And the dazzling beauty made it hard to remember what the darkness had been like. Makes me think of Romans 8:18, “For I consider that the sufferings of this present time are not worthy to be compared with the glory that is to be revealed to us.” And 2 Corinthians 4:17,18, “for momentary, light affliction is producing for us an eternal weight of glory far beyond all comparison, while we look not at the things which are seen, but at the things which are not seen, for the things which are seen are temporal, but the things which are not seen are eternal.” One of these days, the glory of the sun is going to seem like darkness, because the Son shall be revealed, with a beauty, warmth, and magnificent brilliance that we never dreamed of. It’ll be worth the wait.

Dusk

Tuesday, January 6, 2009
In the late afternoon, I bolted outside for a walk before the sun had gone too low for me to take pictures. I thoroughly enjoyed that walk. There is a certain beauty in wintertime scenery that is hard to describe. There is some visible beauty, if you look for it, the delicate tracery of branches against the satiny gray sky, the shine of sunshine on ice, the bare curves of hills and valleys. But it’s no beauty to compare with the luscious summer or lavish fall. I think the beauty is more one of simplicity, with no pretense or show. It’s the beauty of ceasing to strive for beauty. The plain crunch of snow underfoot, the freedom to walk anywhere without any pretense of following the paths that lie beneath the snow, the stark colors of black and white, the transparent chill of the air, the utter quietness.


There one can be alone and really feel alone; there is no foliage that could hide onlookers from sight, no rustling leaves to conceal the sound of footsteps. I felt no obligation to follow the paths, but cut from the big field up to the orchard, then up through the woods. I stopped a while on top of the knoll there to pray. Surrounded by the transparent honesty of winter, it was easy to be transparently honest with God about some of my frustrations and perplexities.
Next, I went along the edge of the forest, tracing the perimeter of the hill pastures, and taking pictures of the sun which was setting. My mind was snagged from its perplexing thoughts to figure out how best to capture the glory of the sun, setting with orange and gold highlights beside the dark, dark green pines. I flopped on my back in the snow to try to get the widest angle possible, and then had to figure out how to remove the snow which had slipped in my clothes.

After that I made my way over those wonderful dramatic humps of ledge that are up in the high pastures, and back along the stone wall to get a picture of the sun setting behind my rock of meditation.

Ice

December 13
We had a very severe ice storm that wreaked havoc for many citizens, as great numbers were without power and trees were down across many roads. However, it WAS beautiful! A couple mornings after the storm, I drove to the house of some friends.

The drive over there was incredibly, stunningly, gorgeous. As I got closer to their house, there was more and more ice covering everything. To say that it was dazzling like crystal, is a trite understatement. Absolutely everything in nature was glazed with sparkling ice. The trees drooped, some of them gracefully, some of them in grotesque globs, their branches laden with jewels. The brushy places, rather than being disorganized thickets, were bouquets of silver. It’s amazing how artistic the Lord made nature to be. I thoroughly enjoyed the drive over, and thankfully the roads were not slippery, for the most part, because I could gaze all the more at the enchanting beauty. I stopped several times to take pictures.


"Out of the south comes the storm, And out of the north the cold. "From the breath of God ice is made, And the expanse of the waters is frozen.
(Job 37:9-10)

He gives snow like wool; He scatters the frost like ashes. He casts forth His ice as fragments; Who can stand before His cold?
(Psa 147:16-17)