Longing

"All my longings lie open before you, O Lord;
my sighing is not hidden from you." --Psalm 38:9

Last week, I travelled to a remote part of Texas for some much anticipated solitude.
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Monday - Three hours south of San Antonio, I turn off the main highway onto the non-descript road that will lead me to my destination. My foot eases off the gas as I take in a large black Labrador Retriever standing in the middle of the pavement. His mouth is open in what seems to be a smile. His tail sweeps back and forth in a friendly hello. As silly as this might sound, he looks like he has been waiting for me.

I pull off the road to text my husband that I have arrived safely. When I look up, the dog is gone. Easing the car back onto the asphalt, I glance at the farm road to my right. There is the Labrador, again in the middle of the road, watching me as I drive past. I grin back at him.

Thank you, Lord, for the special welcome.

This next part of the trip is always the same: I lower the windows of my car and slow my vehicle to a mere idle and crawl along the quiet road. It takes a while to cover the last six miles at this pace but it is always worth it. Everything in me begins to shift gears. My breathing slows down. My senses are sharpened as I take in the wild, untamed vegetation and catch the first faint taste of salt in the air.

I'm coming Lord. I'm almost there.

To my left, a pair of large birds roosts in a tree. They remind me of eagles. A bit farther down the road a startled pair of javelinas and their young take off from the roadside and head under an opening in the wire fence. Butterflies, dragonflies, countless birds, white tail deer, and even a turkey are all part of the welcoming committee.

Your creation is magnificent, Lord.

When I reach the retreat center I head to the Big House to find out where I am staying. I've been assigned to "Ruth" for my stay. I am delighted. It is a large room on the second floor of the main building with access to the veranda that faces the cool breezes blowing in from the bay.

After unloading my possessions I park my car in a remote, out-of-the-way location and walk back towards the Big House. I stop to watch the tiny woodpeckers who are working overtime on the knotted gnarled tree branches nearby. They see me but they aren't concerned about me. Then I look up into the clear blue sky as a shadow crosses my path.

A turkey buzzard soars directly overhead. He glides effortlessly on the wind current. A thought voices itself in my head,

He doesn't have to work at it. He just opens his wings and the wind does the rest.

My longing and envy catch me by surprise. Just as surprising is the immediate response from the Lord.

"You can do the same thing, Denise. Just open your heart and let me do the rest."

I am startled. I hadn't expected to hear Him so clearly, so soon in my visit. His words linger in my heart as I head towards my room to get situated.

After lunch I step out onto the veranda and make myself comfortable in a rocking chair. I am still trying to acclimate myself to the slower pace. The knowledge of days of silence stretching before me causes an anxiety I can't seem to stifle. My thoughts rush and jumble themselves into bunches and knots. My prayers stop and start. I keep reminding myself to just breathe and relax.

The steady motion of the rocking chair begins to work its rhythm into my soul. I become aware of the wind as it rustles the leaves of the palm trees. It is continuous. The trees give witness to the way it ebbs and flows but is never completely still.

Breath of God always with me.

And then He whispers to me...

"Do you want to fly, Denise?"

The question hangs in the air for a moment.

"Do you want to fly, Denise?"

Yes, but I'm afraid. Why am I always afraid?

The truth of my confession slowly sinks in. Tears roll unbidden down my cheeks as my spirit waits for my brain to catch up. I am afraid...

I rock and cry and slowly accept the truth as I feel the breeze blow softly on my face - God with me.

I don't feel the need to explore the details of why...not yet. For now, the fact that I am afraid is enough.