Majestic.
The dining room of this old lodge overlooks the entire valley.
The cloudless sky is an impossible shade of blue. Across the valley some aspens are just beginning to turn, splashes of gold amidst the deep green pines. Aside from a narrow dirt road and an occasional four-wheeler heading into the national forest, there’s not much evidence that we’re only thirty miles from the city.
Everyone’s enjoying an afternoon of R&R. Six or seven guys are fly fishing in the pond. A few minutes ago a group of mountain bikers head up the hill. One group’s off on a hike, another headed down the valley to do some rock climbing. Individuals are scattered around the property reading, journaling, processing deep conversations and big questions.
I’m left alone for my own quiet R&R—writing and reflection. No cell coverage, no Internet or email to interrupt. No background noise from television. A weekend of football will pass without us.
We labeled this afternoon as “free time.” Does “free” refer to cost, as though the rest of the time is expensive? Perhaps it means that for a few short hours we’re not trapped by expectations and schedules. If so, it’s odd that we have to schedule time to let ourselves out of a self-constructed prison.
Men come and go, wandering between activities or sometimes just wandering. Interesting—the conversations and shared stories don’t feel at all like interruptions. There’s a sense of natural flow, as though whatever’s happening is just right for that moment. So I’m writing, and then I’m not, and somehow it’s all good. Much different from home, when anything—or anyone—who derails my train of thought becomes an unwelcome irritant.
In worship prior to our morning session, someone shared The Message translation of Matthew 11:28-30:
“Are you tired? Worn out? Burned out on religion? Come to me. Get away with me and you’ll recover your life. I’ll show you how to take a real rest. Walk with me and work with me—watch how I do it. Learn the unforced rhythms of grace. I won’t lay anything heavy or ill-fitting on you. Keep company with me and you’ll learn to live freely and lightly.”
Sitting here in this calm, peaceful setting, it feels like I’m surrounded by the unforced rhythms of grace. I’m reminded that it’s a standing invitation. Come to me.
Unforced. That’s what’s different about these hours, about this weekend. We’ve agreed to retreat, to back away from hurry and worry, to stop trying to make it happen. We’ve agreed to listen and let ourselves be carried on the unforced rhythms of grace.
I suppose I should prepare for this evening, or get outside, or do something special with these hours. But this afternoon isn’t about “should.” This afternoon is about an encounter with The God Of “Re”. Retreat. Renew. Relax. Refresh. Rest.
So I’ll sit in front of these windows and watch my new friends, enjoy their tales of adventure, and practice trusting that whatever’s happening is okay. I’ll savor the solitude and reflect on the majesty of a high-country meadow.
I wonder what I’ll take down the mountain tomorrow. I wonder if it’ll be back to same-old-same-old, or if I’ll find a way to retain this sense of awe, this sense of authentic, unforced peace and grace.
I’ll figure that out later; next time (Thursday) I’ll see what I find, but not now. Right now is for right now, so I’ll just sit in this incredible place and let it speak to me.
Majestic.
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