Perspective

This morning, as I sat outside for my prayer time, I began to feel nostalgic for my beloved Abbey of Gethsemani. This longing surprised me because I have not been experiencing the wanderlust which normally precedes this feeling. Life has been unusually wonderful. My circumstances have not changed, but my response to them have.  An overwhelming peace and trust in God have recently washed over me. The usual anxiety triggers have lain dormant. So, why this longing for the balm for my disquieted spirit?

My thoughts shifted to the weather – wet and humid – with mosquitoes feasting on my bare feet – an unusual shift from the recent cool, fall mornings. My momentary autumn prayer spot caused my mind to drift, replacing the calm ease of adoration with the self-centered grumblings of dissatisfaction. 

As I forced my will to see past the gloom of the morning, memories of my beloved Gethsemani crashed through my mind – a similar dreary day, but much colder. Too cold for me to brave the peaceful trails across the way. Too wet to even enjoy the prayer garden just below. I perused the library, longingly searching for God, desperately trying to recreate similar encounters as in years past. I needed Him, but how was I going to find Him here? Now? In these worst possible of circumstances?

After finding no solace within the words of ancient strangers, I pulled up the collar of my jacket, wrapped my arms tightly around myself, and sat on a damp chair on the covered library porch. I stared across the road, reminiscing of the profound ways God appeared to me the last few years, wondering how He would or could speak to me this time. 

Then, my mind’s eye saw Him, standing at the entrance to the trail across the street, wearing an army green jacket. He reminded me of Gary Sinise’s character from Forrest Gump. With a slight tilt of His head, He beckoned me to join Him on the other side. I silently declined, not wanting to get sick by traipsing in the woods in the cold rain. 

The Holy Spirit whispered in my ear, changing my perspective by adjusting my eyes to see this glorious gift right in front of me. He reminded me how much I disliked walking along the monk’s path. Being around other people made it difficult for me to be fully present with God. They were a distraction for me. Although this is supposed to be a silent monastery, people often talked, albeit quietly, but still, they talked while walking along the trail. These distractions are why I have so many wonderful stories about getting lost in the woods with God. 

This year would be different. This year, I could enjoy the trail with God all alone. This year, the cold and the rain would keep the others away. This year, this moment, was just for me. We would be alone on the trail – just me and God. 

I walked with Jesus on the tail that day – just the two of us. That was the year we sat by the lake, talking about reflections. That was the year He showed me the tree. That was the year I did not have to get lost in order to find Him. That was the year He taught me to open my eyes to a new way of seeing things – from His perspective and not my own. 

Thank You, Jesus, for that reminder this morning. It has been a long time since I have walked with you like that. Sometimes I miss experiencing You like that – walking beside me, my mind’s eye seeing a vision of You – dressed as Lieutenant Dan. But I know You came as I needed to see You then. Just as You continue to do today – always speaking to me, always teaching me, always loving me. For that, I am eternally grateful and blessed to be Your beloved daughter. Help me to never loose sight of Your presence and gifts. Open my eyes to always see past my human haze to Your glorious goodness.