Treasures from the Trail, Part 3 - The Invitation

"Come to me, you who are weary and heavy laden, and I will give you rest." - Jesus

"Mommy, God made this tree just for me," the words of my four-year-old daughter rang through my memory.  I could see her standing in a hollowed-out tree stump fitting perfectly within its contours. "Yes, he did, honey," I answered back, my heart happy to see her delightfully enjoying God's creation.

But now it was I lying in rather than standing in a hollowed-out tree.  Brent and I had stopped to each lunch and regain our strength next to a beautiful waterfall minutes before.  We hiked on from that place along the edge of a lake.  Shortly past lunchtime, Brent stopped again to pump and filter water from the lake, which gave me time to explore, take pictures and breathe in the wonder of this place.

An old tree trunk lay resting on the shore then extending onto the water.  Though I had already felt rejuvenated from our lunch stop, the appeal of  taking my pack off again and lying in the log was too great to resist.  I sat on the log, soaked my feet in the water while photographing my feet as they were being refreshed in the coolness.  Finding I had phone service, I snapped pictures of the scenery and texted messages with photos to my children.  I was so excited about this place of rest I'd discovered but was frantically telling everyone about it and recording it rather than actually entering into the offered rest that was before me.

Finally I turned off my phone and lay down.  Water surrounded me yet could not touch me on either side of the log that cupped my body.  I felt more quiet and peace than I had ever experienced without the help of an anesthesiologist.  I was being held.  God made this tree just for me, I echoed the sentiments of my daughter from years ago.  I suppose you could say I was taking the invitation to rest and be held personally.  The tree was there for me --  yes, for me.  I want to say that's silly and brush it off.  But what if the Creator of all that is allowed me to notice this piece of wood and let it be there right then, for me?

"Don't take things personally," we often say and have said to us.  Yet I believe there is much that we are meant to take personally, to receive as a gift within our person.  I have noticed even the most cynical take to heart  rainbows and shooting stars.  Yes, millions are viewing the same scene.  But God has something that touches us each personally as we view the colors and arc of a rainbow or the brief, gasp-inducing brightness of a star shooting across the night sky.  And we sense something that is beyond us yet speaking a message of love into us.

With an ache I long to be able to express what this time of deep rest did in the deepest parts of me.  I know I came away from there smiling at the love shown me, changed somehow,  open, with a desire to be more aware of God's invitations to me in the future.  I am surprised at how close I came to just giving the scene a thumbs-up, telling everyone about it, loving the idea of a resting log rather than actually entering into it and receiving what my Maker had carved out for me there.

Talking with some friends who had recently hiked in the same area, they mentioned they had gone by the very lake at which we stopped.  "Oh, did you see my log?" I asked, describing it to them gleefully.  They did not at all know what I was talking about, yet God had personal gifts He gave to them on their way as well.

I can sense God's delight when I think of Him watching me open His gift and respond to His invitation to soak my feet, to celebrate His beauty and to enter into the made-just-for-me reclining spot. 

I still smile to think of it.