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.
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