I miss backpacking. I miss the naps. Miles on the trail. Then camp set-up. Some gorp. Then the search for the perfect granite slab to spread out on. Sweat cooled on my body. The sun hot above; a cool breeze to mediate. Secure on the rock. Work done. Free to enjoy a perfect nap---without stress.
Today that kind of rest eludes me. I’m honing in on the foxes---the ones ruining the vineyard. Here’s a partial list: Social media news knowing and keeping abreast; I-shoulds (spending time with blank, working on the house); blogging and writing; exercise. This isn’t to say I don’t have time to relax; to enjoy coffee on the porch or a good book. But there’s a niggling; a call to a real rest, deep to deep; Sabbath healing.
When living in The Valley I carved out time on Thanksgiving to be alone with God. Off a curving canyon road there lay large boulders; behind you the mountain, below Pacific Coast Highway, miles of shoreline and an expanse of blue ocean stretching out to eternity. I’d go and just sit. Pray. Maybe think; maybe not.
I’m working six days this week; squeezing in Thanksgiving and Friday off. Downtime with family will be great as always but quiet soul feeding won’t be happening. I’m off Monday too. I’m set on getting in a bike-ride or a hike. To cultivate soul quiet. To think; to process, to plan and dream---or not. Perhaps to just be---still.