Have you ever just wanted to get
away from it all in order to find peace? As in: go out into nature to find it?
Escape into the mountains or travel to the seashore? Listen to the wind tease
the pine tree needles, or hear the waves curl and hammer the shore in a
heart-soothing rhythm? Hear the lake water lap against its confining perimeter?
Or just hear...nothing?
That’s what my husband and I planned
to do last week, and we did pack our bags and head to the mountains of Southern
California to enjoy the fall colors, lapping water, and fluttering pine
needles. But throughout the week, (and after a lot of meditating on it before
the trip), I came to realize that “nature” isn’t really as peaceful as I once
thought it was, and that it really is more about being at peace in my soul, wherever I am, than finding peace in some specific location. I also realized that what
many of us define as peace is better translated “quiet,” and that experiencing
both of them simultaneously isn’t always possible.
Our little get-away condo overlooked
Big Bear Lake, once a resplendent manmade reservoir now seventeen feet below
normal, suffering the effects of a prolonged drought. Gorgeous, window-loaded
homes that boasted “lake front” property signs now overlook rustling prairie
grass and cockeyed boat docks perched precariously on dry ground. Unused dock
bridges lie on their sides. Nature certainly couldn’t be at sublime peace in
this location, with habitats being displaced.
One morning the lake glistened like
glass and reflected everything above and beyond it like a perfect mirror. The
following day a forty-mile an hour wind kicked up the water into white caps
that rustled the surface into chop.
Another day we ventured out to the
sun deck to enjoy a barbecue with other condo dwellers, but some of their visibly
grumpy attitudes and complaining didn’t allow for much quiet or peace. Then an
attempt at enjoying a leisurely breakfast on the outdoor patio had to be
curtailed when a couple of alert hornets zoomed in to share our breakfast
sausages. (I was starting to think more and more about “survival of the
fittest” while I gulped down the delicious scrambled eggs my beloved had
labored to prepare for our pleasure, and then rushed inside to finish my
breakfast.) On yet another patio sitting attempt, to enjoy steaming cups of freshly
brewed coffee, we were treated to the raucous screeching of two blue jays that
seemed to be having a territorial argument in the nearest tree. The fight may
have been due to the raw, unshelled nuts we had lined up on the patio ledge for
winter-preparing squirrels to snack on and sequester in their winter caches.
The squirrels didn’t snag the nuts, but a jay did, and he selected the choicest
ones for consumption and boldly hopped three feet into our condo through our
opened patio door to search for more goodies when we neglected to line up more
nuts for his dining pleasure.
We thought we’d find peace during a late
evening soak in the hot tub, until several raccoons thunked onto the ground
several feet away from us on their way to raid the nearby trash cans. They
eyeballed us and checked out our threat level before making their quick, stealthy
pad across the concrete. We crouched into a corner of the hot tub and breathed
exaggerated sighs of relief that a high metal fence separated us from them—a
fence they would have had no problem squeezing through or under if they thought
we posed a threat to them. We carefully surveyed the area before we opened the
gate and returned across the grounds to our room.
The following day we expected to
find some sense of peace when we boarded a small paddlewheel boat for a lake tour.
But ten minutes after launch, my husband was helping extract two people from
their tiny, swamped fishing boat, and I was rendering aid to our injured
skipper and one of the rescued people. The tour was promptly curtailed, and I rode
back with one rescued person while my husband waved at me from the official
lake rescue police boat carrying the other stunned fisherman. Later that
afternoon, my husband, cousin, his wife, and I opted for a quiet dinner at a
hilltop restaurant. Just before we walked out the door to go eat, though, the
police department called for one final statement from my husband about how the
skipper had handled the situation. Let’s just say, his response wasn’t
peaceful.
In daylight, chipmunks stealthily
scurried from one scrub brush or rock cover to another, stopping only briefly
to stand up, flick their tails and chirp or sniff the air before flitting under
another protective cover. Cottontail rabbits do the same, except for the
chirping and tail flicking. Resident dogs warned us of walking too close to
their fenced, or personal walking territory.
While it may be quiet, clearly life
is not “peaceful” for these littlest mountain creatures. One false move and
they may end up on a hawk’s dinner plate. The same goes for the ducks when they’ve
ventured onto dry land from their safer, watery habitat. And nights—while
“sounding” quiet—are not full of peace, either. While some animals sleep, the
nocturnal types are busy hunting and feeding. Night strolls found us on fairly
high alert, too. Not just for reckless, speeding mountain drivers but for
cunning coyotes, scavenging bears, and stealthy, stalking cougars.
So while nature may seem peaceful to
my untrained, human eye and senses, it–as scripture says—groans while awaiting
its redemption upon Christ’s return. It fights for survival. Animals hunt other
animals, and the ground thirsts for rehydration. Trees suffer the effects of
drought, and pine needles turn brown and crisp as the trees stiffen and
shrivel.
And I come to realize that it is
really my soul that craves peace, and—if I focus like a laser beam on the Prince
of Peace who resides within my soul—I should be able to find peace anywhere—in the
noisiest city or atop the quietest mountain. It is when I focus less on my
surroundings and agitating circumstances and more on His perfect love that
drives out fear and quiets my pounding heart, that peace—in its soul-soothing perfection—prevails.
On the final day of our weeklong
hiatus, God blessed us with a perfectly quiet, serene surrounding, (read: no one else
but us), and a delicious, leisurely meal on the patio of a historic log home.
(Okay, so we did have to ward off some persistent, opportunistic flies, but
after the week we’d had, they seemed mundane.) We hated to leave and dragged
out the lunch as long as we could before hitting the road for our return drive
home. We reveled in the quiet and felt peace in our spirits, and at peace with
our surroundings. It is rare that it all comes together so perfectly like that,
but if I really look for it, I think it may come more often. No matter where I
happen to be.
________________________________________
Until next Monday, may your week be
full of blessings that you receive and give, your heart be full of joy and
thankfulness, and your days be filled with laughter. Build a little heaven in
your life right now, and watch your heavenly garden grow!
Blessings,
Andrea
When the eyes of
the soul looking out meet the eyes of God looking in, heaven has begun right
here on earth. ~ A. W. Tozer
Images by Andrea Arthur Owan, and Google
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