As the paddle sliced through the dark, cool water of the Chattahoochee River, I felt the tension loosen its
grip on my shoulders. The only audible
sound was the rhythmic dipping of the paddle as I eased my kayak into the face
of the flowing current. Right. Left.
Right. Left. The silence wrapped itself around my mind
like a warm blanket. In the middle of a
city of five million people, I was completely and blissfully ALONE. No calls, no emails, no texts, no tweets. Actual solitude. Heavenly Peace.
I find it fascinating the way different people actually
FEEL about being alone for snapshots of time.
Those feelings are neither “right” nor “wrong” but are simply products
of our distinct wiring and our life experiences to date. Gender plays a role in that I think… most men
in my circle of life truly despise being alone.
Phase of life certainly affects it – most moms of toddlers would probably
donate a kidney just to get a little solitude!
And then there are those people somewhere in between who wouldn’t
necessarily choose it, but tolerate solitude when it
comes. Truthfully, based on my
wiring and my life experiences to date, I’ve yet to feel the actual dread of being alone. But as a young girl growing up on the farm in
deep south Georgia, there were many times I had to tolerate it. Cancer took my mom in the prime of her life,
so there was no one to “hover” over me.
Typical of a rural area, my school playmates were a dozen or more miles
away, my older brothers were busy with their own activities, and my dad was
working hard to coax a living from the land.
I remember riding my trusty steed, (a
purple Schwinn with a white wicker basket and a sleek banana seat), to the
back field and walking up and down the rows of freshly plowed dirt. I liked the neatness of the rows and how they
seemed to stretch out forever in front of me.
I liked the way the fresh dirt smelled and how it felt soft under my
bare feet. But mostly, I liked knowing
that my own dad had tilled up that soil with his John Deere tractor. Since he was busy working, I couldn’t be with
my Dad, but I could be where he’d recently been. It soothed an empty place in me, at least for
awhile. I felt less alone.
Kayaking invokes that same feeling in me. I once read a story to my boys about Creation
from a Children’s Storybook Bible.
Rather than the strict narrative of “On Day One, God Created…”, this
storybook took a little creative license.
After speaking the world into existence, it said that our powerful God
formed the rivers of the earth by tracing them onto the terrain with His finger
– much like we draw in the sand. I loved
that simplistic word picture because it took my mind back to the plowed rows of
my own childhood. I can’t be with my Heavenly Father face to face, but it brings me comfort
to be where He’s been. Maneuvering
my kayak in the trench He made with his finger… the very spot where His hand
touched the earth, it soothes me in the same way walking barefoot in the plowed
soil soothed me as a child.
Isn’t it cool to let our highly- structured adult minds
relax just a bit and spend some time exploring the highly-visual world of a
child’s imagination? I love thinking
about God bending down tracing rivers onto the globe with his finger. Because then I think about Jesus bending down
tracing words in the sand with HIS finger, as the accusers were salivating at
the chance to stone the adulterous woman.
There’s power and
gentleness in the fingers of God, and I feel that deep in my soul as I get lost
in the cadence of the paddle in the river.
As I paddled on that day, the tension continued to wane.
I exhaled deeply and navigated past a family of ducks in the middle of the
river. Their annoyed squawking and
hurried pace clearly communicated their displeasure over my intrusion. I understood.
Escaping the intrusions of life was exactly what I was doing on the
river that day. While I’m very content
with my life, I often feel the need to find some breathing room. Tension just builds up over time when a girl
is raised
on 500 acres but willingly exchanges her birthright for city lights and a half
acre lot.
Rather than float leisurely downstream, letting the
current carry me along, I prefer the challenge and exertion of working my way
UP the river. Some days I
win. Some days the river wins. But on this particular October day in the
south, I think it was a draw.
I’d never seen the river more glorious. The river banks were lined with hardwoods
just beginning to break out in full color.
Yellows and browns, rich reds and vibrant oranges were all there swirled
together in a magnificent array of colors.
A friend of mine pointed out to me recently that she was in awe that
NONE of the colors clashed in God’s palette for Fall. I’d never thought of it that way before, and
as I sat in my kayak staring at His creation as though it were hanging on the
walls of a museum, I marveled at the
new thought. My friend was right – the
colors blended perfectly. What an
amazing God! The view reminded me of the
promise in scripture, recorded by the prophet Isaiah:
You
will go out in joy
and be led forth in peace;
the mountains and hills
will burst into song before you,
and all the trees of the field
will clap their hands. Isaiah 55:12
and be led forth in peace;
the mountains and hills
will burst into song before you,
and all the trees of the field
will clap their hands. Isaiah 55:12
If this landscape wasn’t an example of nature bursting
into song and clapping her hands… I don’t know what in the world would
be.
Something else was different on the river that day. I was out for a midday paddle, so the sun was
high overhead. The sun in that position
cast a FULL reflection of the trees onto the surface of the water, not a
truncated version like it sometimes appears. I honestly couldn’t take my eyes off the
water. The reflections were in full
color as well and they were mesmerizing.
I had experienced this phenomena in years past on various
Fall excursions on the river, and every time I felt in my spirit that God was
communicating SOMETHING to me. The
frustrating thing was that I never seemed to figure out exactly WHAT. I’m pretty sure I had understood bits and
pieces of His message to me, but I had that nagging “unfinished” feeling in my
spirit that let me know there was more to be mined from this “reflections”
sight.
I would occasionally tear my eyes away from the surface
reflections and gaze up at a particular tree.
It’s not that the tree itself wasn’t beautiful – it certainly was. But there was just something about the reflection
that kept stealing my attention. What
did it mean?
My mind drifted to one of my memory verses for 2011:
“Wherever the Spirit of the LORD is, men’s souls are set free. But all of us who are Christians have no
veils on our faces, but reflect like mirrors the glory of the LORD. We are transformed in ever-increasing
splendor into His own image, and this is the work of the LORD, who is the Spirit.” – 2 Corinthians
3:17(b)-18 J.B. Phillips Translation
Was I staring at a word picture of that verse?
Maybe my reaction to the incredible beauty of the
reflection was inspired by the sheer unlikeliness of it. While I am bone-deep-loyal to my chosen “home
city”, I have to admit that the Chattahoochee River is horribly polluted. The fact that IT is capable of becoming a
canvas that God uses to paint such reflected beauty is utterly amazing. Suffice it to say, its waters do NOT run
crystal clear; but on this particular outing, those waters held a treasure that
handcuffed my gaze.
And then it occurred to me. Are we so different? Aren’t our lives polluted by our poor
choices, our scars, our stubborn self-reliance, our battle-weary postures? And yet, Paul writes to us in 2 Corinthians that WE are capable of
reflecting the glory of the LORD – the same glory that traces rivers onto the
face of the earth and creates beauty without any clashing colors, the same glory
that transforms plain ole green into a masterpiece every Fall. My mind can’t hold that thought.
I mean, any Christian who has attended church at least
twice knows about sanctification. We throw
that word around all the time. Every
Christian is supposed to be growing and “getting better”, becoming more Christ-like. But the very concept has always invoked
images in my mind akin to a dental visit.
(These were things to be dreaded
and feared in my childhood. Farms had deep
wells as a water source – no fluoride.
And I did not have a mother reminding me to brush twice each day. I remember one visit in particular to Dr.
Darby in Vidalia as a very young child. I had 13 cavities. Dread
and Fear.) Sanctification in MY mind
had always meant that God uses His “drill” to get rid of the decay in our
lives. If it’s too deep, He foregoes the
drill and simply pulls some things out by the roots. He polishes us inside and out. NONE of it has ever seemed like a pleasant
process. And may I say that God has not
been a big fan of Novocain in my experience?
There has been no numbing during the treatment. Sanctification has often been painful.
That’d been my mindset.
“Sanctification is a necessary
part of the Christian journey. It often
hurts.” I’d lost sight that the
BENEFIT is actually BEING more like Christ.
And in so doing – even in my polluted life – I’m reflecting His glory. It’s too wonderful. It physically presses in on my chest, and suddenly
it’s hard to breathe sitting in my 38 pound boat. Can my reflection of Him POSSIBLY be
beautiful -like the original – the same way I’m looking at the beautiful reflection
of these trees on the murky water? Could
this be at least part of what Jesus meant when he told his disciples that they
would do “even greater things than these?”
Is it “greater” because it’s so unlikely? He was God incarnate, perfect and sinless and
all-powerful, so of course He healed the sick and raised the dead. We are…not.
So when our cracked and chipped clay jars emit a light
that reminds people of HIM – isn’t that a reflection? Isn’t that a miracle? Isn’t it a “greater thing?” Isn’t it THE WAY it’s supposed to be when the
spirit of Jesus lives inside you?
A favorite author of mine, Ann Voscamp, wrote “You’ll see
your true self when you look for your reflection in the eyes of souls, not the
glare of screens.” I love that. There were no screens on the river that day. Just me baring my soul to my Creator – asking
HIM what I’m actually reflecting. He didn’t
admonish. But He gently and lovingly revealed
the truth. While I AM reflecting some of
HIS glory, it’s not yet a pure reflection.
I’ve mixed in some colors that clash with His. Selfishness is not a color in God’s
palette. Insecurity doesn’t have a spot
on His paint wheel. Unbelief is never
brushed onto His canvas. Yet they ARE
part of my reflection… at the moment. I
heard Him, and I knew He was right.
Time was slipping away and I needed to get home to meet
the bus for one son and greet the carpool for the other son. I wanted to linger; I needed to go. I went.
As I picked up the pace of my paddling, I wanted to
celebrate a “breakthrough” in my spirit.
The reflection quandary that had occupied space in my subconscious for a
long, long time was begging to be moved to the “done pile.” Unfortunately, the nagging feeling
remained. Apparently, God wasn’t completely
finished with our classroom lesson, but the bell had definitely rung signaling
the end of today’s lecture.
There is more to mine, more to learn about what it means
to be a reflection of Christ. But for
today, I will be thankful for the motivating picture of the trees on the
water. I will be thankful for the
reminder than the sanctification process is worth the pain. I will be thankful that He invites me DAILY
to be “transformed in ever-increasing splendor into His own image.”
I’m looking forward to the next classroom moment, taught
by my Father.
