The Northwest Beckons

Look how gorgeous. In about 6 weeks I will be able to gaze upon such splendor. Six weeks. How could it be so close; so soon?? This lovely view was provided by my good friend Chris. He and his wife Heidi are the ones kayaking.

Leaving. Happens all the time. People and things come and go. You can't arrive without first leaving. I just wish it didn't hurt so much. Losing things and grieving their loss (whether temporary or permanent) is hard work. It drains your body, mind and soul. When the psalmists talk about weary souls and eyes that waste away, they mean it--literally. There is hope. When I got this picture today, I was reminded of the bitter herbs of leaving. And there will be much left behind. But look at the mountains and the fog and how much new life is out there waiting to be created and discovered. This picture came at just the right time to remind me that new life does await me. Here, in the waiting, it is hard to imagine there is more than what I can see.

In the most present moment, life is characterized by the unknown, the possible, the maybe, the not yet, the what might be, the what might not be. When I look back, things all seem to fall into place and the timing is just right. In the moment, my point of view is always one of bad timing. Things never seem to line up right when they are supposed to. Ends don't quite meet, paths branch off in very different directions than you had hoped for or planned. And yet I sit here with the promise of grace that no matter what happens I will be led and cared for by my shepherd. The one they call Good. I am challenged to believe against myself and what I see. That's what faith is: trusting the unknown in the hope that what is uncertain will yield certainty and truth will prevail. And in the background I hear the commercial for Chase Freedom. Sigh. But it's after 11pm and it's time to sleep. The time for thinking clearly and making decisions is past and gone. So I look longingly one more time at the kayaks and the mountains in hope.