lost in a picture

This picture was taken by my dad in Acadia National Park, Maine. I love pictures like this. It's peaceful, and yet there is a voice beckoning me to explore this still and quiet place. There's a kind of soft adventure to be found. What's beyond the ridge? What's to either side of this cairn (trail marker)? Why is the cairn even there? I can easily imagine myself getting lost in the silence, the solitude, wandering slowly along the ridge, through the trees. And today, as I hang on to the end of a somewhat emotional week, a picture like this helps me to be quiet, still, unspeaking. It is in places like this where it is easiest for me to settle, to be still, a place I often long for and yet rarely take time to pursue. It is often in the stillness I am finally able to hear myself, to process the thoughts that as of yet have done nothing but swirl in my head without order, without stopping. It is also in the stillness that I am able to connect once again with my ever-patient God. He is always waiting, wanting to take my swirling thoughts and emotions and give them order, meaning, and help to cope. Maybe its that need drawing me to quiet places right now. My need for God's presence and peace feels thick, overwhelming. And it can be difficult to find while working in an office painted taupe, with black metal filing cabinets, fake plants and too many piles on my desk, not to mention the intermittent ringing of the phone, requests of my boss and conversation of my coworkers. It seems the exact opposite of what my dad's picture is offering. Which is exactly why I love, and even need, this picture.

Thanks Dad.