A story I wrote several years ago:
It was a week in mid-April, a year when spring arrived unexpectedly early when I drove up the Gunflint Trail for a
retreat at the Gunflint Lodge. It was five days and four nights without cell phone, internet or television service.
After the initial shock, I enjoyed and even treasured the time of truly being “away.” I listened to the birds during the day, and the wolves at night. After dark I would wander down to the end of the dock, lie on my back and stare at the stars until I couldn’t stay awake any longer. One night I watched the Northern Lights dance across the sky while listening to the loons calling to each other saying, “welcome home for the summer.”
One of the great adventures of the week was when one of my new friends, Annie, asked if I wanted to take an afternoon hike. I said, “sure, I am always up for a walk in the woods.” She told me, she was thinking about hiking up to the high cliffs. “Oh, I’m not very keen on heights.” Annie smiled, “it will be fine, we’ll take it slow.”
As we started down the trail I looked at the map and there on the high cliffs path was the word CHALLENGING! And it was a long, challenging hike. But we took it slow and we did get to the top with some rests and deep breathing. I have to
admit, the view was truly amazing AND well worth the climb.
Annie loved it. She walked all over exploring and calling for me to follow her. I spent most of the time on my hands and knees. She handed me her camera and I took pictures of her doing yoga poses on the edge of the cliff. It scared me more than it did her.
Finally we found a large flat rock and sat down together. We didn’t talk very much because words just didn’t seem appropriate. Finally I said, “did I forget to tell you I am afraid of heights?” Annie laughed, “Cindy, you are not afraid of heights. Look around. If you were afraid of heights you wouldn’t be here.” I smiled “thank you for bringing me here.”
That day on the high cliffs as Annie explored the mountaintop, I sat on a rock and looked around at the spaciousness of life. Across the lake I could see the remnants of a fire that had swept through a few years ago. The trees stood tall and dark, without a trace of life clinging to their trunks. The rocks, once covered by lush green growth, were bare and exposed. It was a sign of the woundedness of creation and reminded me of the pain and sorrow of life.
Just as visible to my eye was the miracle of new growth. I could see the spring green, the color we only see in the new growth of spring. It was as far away as I could see and it was right there within my reach.
Life, in all of its spaciousness; its woundedness and healing; its devastating sorrow and incredible joy.
As I sat on that rock, I remembered the story of Moses and God telling Moses to take off his shoes because he was standing on holy ground. And so that day on top of the high cliffs, I took off my shoes and my socks and rested the bare skin of my feet on the warm rock because I knew I too was standing on holy ground.
The poet David Whyte describes it as The Holy Ground of our experiences.
Peace and Joy,
Pastor Cindy