Needing the short view

I am all about the long view. I’m often to the one to remind others of how the Lord will work things for good in the end and how, in light of eternity, our troubles are truly small. People have told me I have a gift for bringing perspective in the midst of momentary tight spaces.

This is reflected in my pictures from the last several days of walks. I’ve been grateful that self-isolation in the Irish countryside has meant the chance to walk for miles at a time, in awe of the beautiful landscapes. The green hills, the giant trees, and the faraway mountains have been a comfort and have breathed life into this rural Minnesota girl (after living in a desert city of 9.5 million for the past six months). Almost every picture I’ve taken centers on the horizon.

I set out on this morning’s walk at my normal heart rate-raising pace, knowing that I would return to several hours of sitting for work and meetings. There have been rainy and sunny days, and I’ve walked in both. But today was neither. Today there was a thick fog on the horizon. That didn’t bother me (though I knew I would need to be extra careful of cars) and I began talking to the Lord as I walked. I talked to Him about upcoming decisions, about where I’ll be two weeks and two months and two years from now. I prayed that He would make my heart willing to do His will. I prayed, as I used to hear an elder in church pray, that I would want what He wants more than what I want.

Then something caught my eye. Sparkling from the dew between branches of the blackberry bush was a stunning little spiderweb. I stopped to examine the art of it and took a deep breath, enjoying the beauty. I kept walking but slowed my pace. The horizon was so foggy that there wasn’t much to see, and I began to focus my attention on what was right around me. I spotted dozens more spiderwebs, delicately hanging between branches or dead leaves or fence wires. I noticed that there were more ripe blackberries along the road than there had been a few days ago, and I ate a few. I paid attention to the cows and the horses grazing in their pastures and they turned to stare as I walked by. Flocks of birds hidden in the tall grass took flight in unison at the sound of my footsteps.

Sometimes I need to lift my eyes and look to the horizon, dreaming of what’s next. But today I needed to turn to the beauty of what was right in front of me. I needed to slow down and delight in the gift of the moment. It’s good that I often reflect on my life purpose, but I needed to rest in God’s provision for today. I needed to remember what I read in Ecclesiastes just before my walk: “…This is the gift of God. For he will not often consider the years of his life, because God keeps him occupied with the gladness of his heart” (5:19-20).  I want to be occupied with joy in this season. Joy in the blackberries (even if they’re misshapen and tart), joy in the spiderwebs (even if I don’t love spiders), joy in the hazy horizon in front of me.

There is beauty in the present moment and there is even beauty in the fogginess of the horizon.