Mist on the Mountain

The day is bright, clear and crisp.  The air feels fresh and the sun shines bright.  Ahead of me is the mountain.  Strong.  Majestic.  Adorned in the most glorious of robes, pointing up to the one who created it, but today, there is mist on the mountain.

All around me the day screams of Gods goodness.  His faithfulness to create another day, to sustain our life, to bless us with this beauty around us, the beauty of the birds song, the beauty of the flower, the beauty of the mountain.  But today, there is mist on the mountain.

The mist is beautiful.  It hangs low and thick on the mountain and from far below I know that it is harmless. but inside, to be inside of the mist is a different story.

There's a girl inside the mist and all around her, all she can see is white.  To her, the mist is debilitating.  At times, choking her very breath.  She feels the weight of the mist closing in around her but doesn't know where to go, what to do.  To her, the mist is fear, the mist is suffocating, the mist is death.

 

Though she is only meters from others, she feels completely alone.  So all encompassing is this mist. If she could but rise above it, or have it lift, if she could just look outside of her small telescope view she would see!  She would see the path home.  But with a limited view, alone and scared she remains, wandering.

She doesn't know what is plain from down below.  That the mist is temporal.   That it is limited, and that it is, in fact, beautiful.

The mist is part of her story, it will shape her and change her.  It will test her and teach her to depend on what she cannot see.  As surely as the sun will rise, the mist will fade, and soon!  Bringing sunlight and much desired clarity.  She must only wait, and trust the unseen.  Believing that there is a world of beauty that awaits when the mist lifts.

Trust and believe dear one, the mist will lift.

Still.

This quiet feeds my soul.  It is refreshing, rejuvenating.  Here in the silence, I don't think about who I am, or what I am in this new place.  I don't think about the others and how they see me, or don't see me.  Instead, I am just still.  Silent.  

I hear, the clock ticking, the breeze rustling the leaves, the bird chirping.  I wonder what’s it’s like to be a bird.  Flying, unburdened, free.  I bet it’s peaceful up there.  As she flies around, I wonder what does she see?  Little humans, scurrying busily back and forth to our perceived responsibilities.  Faces down, only seeing whats right in front of us.  Backs hunched, faces drawn, does she feel sorry for us?  What does she see when she looks at me?

The breeze is gentle today.  Slowly blowing causing the trees to sway.  The sky is grey and the air feels cool, a gift from our Father.  The quiet feeds my soul.  It is refreshing, rejuvenating.  Here in the silence, my Father speaks to me and says that He is enough; that He will provide.

His voice is quieter now then before, or is it?  Perhaps this place is just too loud.  Voices calling for my time, my attention, my response.  Perhaps this place is too loud and I must retreat; retreat to hear His voice.  Retreat to let things go.  Retreat to feed my soul.  Here in the stillness I sit, I listen, I am HIs.

The stillness is fading now, as littles awake.  I longingly hold on.  They are a gift too, these littles.  One to cultivate and pour into.  As the day takes shape, the stillness ebbs and flows, sometimes it surrounds me, other times I cant quite reach it.  It’s ok.  For tomorrow I will return.  To the stillness that feeds my soul.