The Trees are Not So Demanding.

I feel more comfortable around trees. They pour out water to my empty places.

Thirsty, I wander these sidewalks and streets, measuring myself against the bar. Everywhere I look there are standards to meet, fashions to fashion myself to, lists of things I don’t have, an image out of my grasp, a hopeless mountain to climb and no ropes holding me secure as I trip and fall. Or so it seems...

She is taller than me. Her boots are cute and her legs are fit. She has three kids. Her husband carries the car seat with the baby. He is good looking and sports a perfect shirt. His eyes, perfect. The car, nice and rich. Smiles and laughs. Friends upon friends. No concern for money. Clothes are always set just so over the shoulders and the hair never out of place. A purse with a name, a soft face with just the right eyeliner. She drips with sophistication and elegance. She doesn’t worry, she doesn’t fear, she doesn’t lack, she doesn’t ache, she doesn’t cry, she doesn’t want what anyone else wants because she has it all. Every square inch of desire has been filled up with what she has. She envies no one because everyone envies her.

I follow her and chase her, one day I will be her...

Then I go into the woods.

The spinning stops. The anxiety-producing comparisons fade away. My eyes gaze up as high as the trees extend to the skies and I get lost in the wide open spaces and the smell of pine. The tightness fades, the ongoing and suffocating measurements disappear. I can breathe. The trees write a different script. They sing a new song. They erase the power of the image that chokes itself around me. They instruct me in a lesson on genuine beauty and simple existence. They untangle me. No tiring evaluation haunts me in the woods. No “right way” or “wrong way” demands expectations for me. No oppressive portrait hangs over me. The trees redirect me, the crunch of the leaves under foot lighten my mood and bring me to a state of calm.

This is what Creation does. This is part of what it is meant to be: a tool unlocking and reframing. We shift our gaze from an inward, staring-at-ourselves and what we wear, own, carry, drive and build to what is sacred, inspiring, lifting and altogether breath-taking. A small tuft of perfectly smooth moss takes the attention, a patch of purple flowers, huge mushrooms in various ballooned shapes, the smallest birds bounce everywhere to find their tasty snacks, and the endless sounds of the woods showering us with peace. We find respite here. We stop clamoring for the new, the better, the other, the endless list of pointless wants. Our insatiable selves stop and settle down. We are reset.

The treadmill of “keeping up” is a slow death of the soul. Like a twisting of who we are, it  subtly reshapes us into a one-dimensional, hollow person. Be intentional to swim in the opposite direction of the rest of the crowd. Some who have gone before us, said it well...

“Whenever you find yourself on the side of the majority, it is time to pause and reflect.”
    -Mark Twain

“Wrong does not cease to be wrong because the majority share in it.”
    -Leo Tolstoy


“I don't imagine you will dispute the fact that at present the stupid people are in an absolutely overwhelming majority all the world over.”
    -Henrik Ibsen

“The fact that an opinion has been widely held is no evidence whatever that it is not utterly absurd; indeed in view of the silliness of the majority of mankind, a widely spread belief is more likely to be foolish than sensible.”
    -Bertrand Russell

So swim upstream, right into the woods...

Food for My Worn Out Self. Every Week.

Consistently I am moved by the final twenty minutes of my church service. Every Sabbath we take the sacrament of the Lord’s Supper. Every week we confess our sins. And every week we are reminded of the unconditional acceptance of Christ for His people. My pastor will consistently stress that this meal is not for people who have life tied with a bow, rather it is for those who have failed and fallen flat or at times are so hopeless they can’t see two steps in front of them. This supper is not for the ones who have "pleased" Jesus and can come and sit at His table because they are shiny and clean. This table is for the crippled, poor, and blind, for those left starving as a result of misplaced love. It’s the one church I have been to where people actually choose not to take it. They understand they either need to come to Christ first or they have to resolve a festering conflict brewing with someone around them. They stay seated and, thankfully, feel safe enough doing so. Finding a church free from shame and judgment is a feat in itself.

Today I had a bird’s eye view as I sat in the front, available for people to stop and receive prayer if they needed it. Sitting in a chair off to the side, I watched the long lines form. Poor and rich, black and white, young and old, tattooed up and yuppie to the core. Some physically limb and some barely able to lift their heads. The confident and the cowardly. All walk ahead to humbly partake of this transforming tradition. "Do this in remembrance of me," Jesus said. It hits me fresh week to week. We are a mess, a mod-podge of individual lives who are shuffling to the front of the church looking for a windfall of grace to fill our beat-up insides and give us what we need for the week ahead. This is a means of God pouring out on us the gifts of His forgiveness, peace, hope and motivation to endure the darkness. Undeserving, we limp forward with our hands reaching out and open to receive this meal that changes us over time. I cannot help but be reminded over and over again, “You are mangled and bruised by the fall, but you are healed, loved and free.” This is a sermon, a tangible picture each and every Sunday that the deficit I have accrued has been accounted for. I walk forward, slowly, in contemplation...here is my balm. I have been rescued.

“Dawn, this is His body and blood shed for you...”

They say my name, they look me in the eye and I return to my seat, knowing all is well with my soul.