Into the Woods (and Back Again)

Through these last few months of school, my brain has been full of random names, books, points, and counterpoints for my written final exams in Literature. With the academic year at last drawn to a close, I can give my brewing blog-thoughts space to breathe.

Ahhh....

Back in February, when coats were near and icicles sometimes hung from rock ledges, I found myself spending a few days at Rivendell, the Chole's beautiful prayer-retreat home and vacation space nestled into the Branson hills. Truly a place of rest, wisdom, and restorative beauty.

One clear morning, I took a hike to explore the backyard woods leading down to the Ozark lake. At the time, my recent move back to Missouri, the place where I spent my childhood, was still fresh. Emotionally, I was so thrilled for the opportunity God had given me (I still am). Mentally, I knew I might easily let things get cluttered. I'm acutely aware of my lingering tendency to grasp after too many goals and pathways for improvement. Highlighting everything to focus on stretches me too thin and makes my pages bleed.

Without a doubt, God had led me here. The peace was so palpable. He needed to be the one guiding my every step. My temporal perspective is so dim in comparison with eternity. Only He can guide me where to plant the seed, nurture the soil, or let the fields rest for profitable and sustainable harvest. Simultaneous investment everywhere will only make me bankrupt. This is the hard lesson learned (or being learned) by the girl who spent her sophomore year chasing straight A's in 8 classes on the fumes of mono and came home from school in tears because her body and energy wouldn't let her do what logically should be "normal". I can laugh about it now... kind of.

As I walked through the woods, passing the prayer benches and slabs of stone with chiseled scriptures, I asked Jesus to show me what His heart was for me in this season. He knows every 'has been', 'right now', and 'will be' so much better than I do... And that's when I came upon a flowing brook that ran through the center of the woods.

This. This was a picture of it. In the middle of my questions.

Jesus, knowing me better than even I know myself, treated my story-loving soul to the gift of metaphor.

Here, before my feet, the water bubbled and laughed as it passed from one level of earth to another, journeying ever closer to the vast body of water below. This was a picture of the work Christ had in store for me. A bubbling time of transition...

My Savior--Living Water--has joined my life to his through the miracle of the cross. Blood sanctified, the old made new, baptized. As gravity pulls this slight stream down towards greater things, the Holy Spirit pulls me on toward the Presence I cannot comprehend, but know I am a part of, know I am made for. This Presence of the Holy calls on me as belonging to itself, and the God of the universe grants me communion with His divine purposes. Grace is an equipping force, a pulse that guides me like the current. The Holy Spirit, that most precious teacher and guide, continues the promise of Emanuel, God with us. Here, It leads me, draws me on towards home, which is the very presence of the Father.

Through the seasons of life, I travel across levels. Some have felt stagnant, others torrential. Though the stream sometimes does not recognize its own movement, the Spirit, like gravity, constantly works to pull it onwards. Unseen does not mean non-existent. Through challenge and celebration alike, the Spirit has been drawing me further on. This moment in February was like that transition from one ledge to another, that bubbling expectation so full of life and childlike laughter, leading me onto a new plane of living.

There, too, I saw a sifting. I felt my Father's heart telling me his desire to pull away the dead leaves and things that I let weigh me down. I must find my source always in the wellspring of life that is Christ. I must allow myself to be cut into, re-directed, even detained while that pull of the Spirit separates the debris that would muddy my soul. I must look always after my Father's heart, and seek to soak myself in His presence so I can water the thirsty earth with His Gospel. He is still at work in me. Faithful, just as He has always been. My domain as daughter is a un-retracted invitation into a deeper knowledge of the Holy, a greater nearness, and an increased surrendering of myself.

With cool, refreshed steps I move on, still joyously taking in the overflow of all He has for me here. The beauty of this faith is that I can co-labor with Christ while He equips me for things beyond my own strength. This keeps me near. This pulls me deeper into the waves of my Father's eternal purposes. Even here, in the everyday. Where I type in the Ozarks and streams happen to cut through forests and my shoes still get muddy.

Winter is now gone, summer is here. (Though it still feels like a mosaic spring. I really do love how changeable Missouri weather is. Shorts, rain jackets, and sweaters have to be kept on hand at all times. Never a dull moment with that kind of delightful changeability!) Things blossom, and move forward, and bubble over again.

In truth, it is always time to be listening and attentive to that divine pull, but set apart spaces are equally important. Seeking my Father's heart, like anything worth having in life, is something that must be cultivated and protected. As this little stream of mine finds itself in the opening expanse of freer months, it is time to listen again.

Oh, what a foretaste of glory divine!

Heir of salvation, purchase of God,

Born of His Spirit, washed in His blood.

This is my story, this is my song...