Woods

My Loyal Companion and I went for a lose-your-breath paced walk in the woods this evening, I for peace and he because it’s his passion. I went out to the hazel wood/because a fire was in my head[1]. You may have caught on by now that I pay very close attention to the natural world and find solace and encouragement there, but tonight I hardly noticed. I saw enough to know it was a gem of a spring evening but I neither felt nor saw any of it. It was instead as though the inner vortex that has been stealing my peace escaped and twirled madly around in a heady mix of glowing pastels, bird calls, and peeping frogs—VanGogh on a living scale.

Forests are wonderful places to lose, or alternatively, find oneself.[2] Or to lose something chasing literally or figuratively at your heels.

“One day he lost sight of his retinue in a great forest. These forests are very useful in delivering princes from their courtiers, like a sieve that keeps back the bran. Then the princes get away to follow their fortunes. In this way they have the advantage of the princesses, who are forced to marry before they have had a bit of fun. I wish our princesses got lost in a forest sometimes.”[3]

I did not find anything in the woods tonight; I did lose something there, though, and was able to return home without so much swirling madness. In the woods is freedom to simply be however you presently find yourself. The only eyes out there do not calculate worth based on appearance, and the only minds do not weigh value or pass judgements in the same brutal way we do. Their assessments are brutal, sure, in terms of physical life or death (“A bird unwary! I shall eat it,” thinks the fox) but far more injurious to the inner life—the one that matters—are the assessments we make.

It is a surprise to find that just came from my pen; it was not where I expected to be going with this. Those aren’t the questions I’m dealing with. Well, okay, maybe not in large part, but looking more closely it has been dredged up in the sediment. Great. Again. Does nothing ever stay resolved? Rewind to an excerpt from 2014:

“ ‘And why do you worry about clothes? See how the flowers of the field grow. They do not labor or spin. Yet I tell you that not even Solomon in all his splendor was dressed like one of these (Mt6:28-29).’ New thought here too. God made the flowers and us, He clothes them and us. How ridiculous it would be for flowers to compare themselves to others! For the poppy to say ‘I am not elegant like the rose, dainty like the phlox, as full as the hydrangea—I am not as flowery, as tall, as stately, or as many-petaled.’ How utterly ridiculous, for God made each and each is beauty itself! And yet how often we, made and dressed by the same God, make exactly these comparisons. These are only comparisons of appearance, too—we make thorough inventories of talents, possessions, relationships—you name it and we tally it all up in bleak columns of ‘don’t have,’ ‘would like,’ ‘need,’ ‘desperately want.’ How great is our sin! How much greater is His grace.”

So, after all, this false accounting is part of what drove me to the woods. True difficulties in the larger context of my current situation have been stirring up a good number of thorny questions, but I’ve been looking at the balance of things from miserly human eyes and totally blind to astounding wealth God places daily around me. Even here— feeling as though the path twists with wicked unexpectedness and I cannot see and there are stones and fallen trees and sink holes to maneuver—even here, I am not lost. Here too, I cannot remain, nor am I left to continue on unaided.

“Send me your light and your faithful care, let them lead me; let them bring me to your holy mountain, to the place where you dwell.”[4]

“Your word is a lamp to my feet and a light to my path.”[5]

“Indeed, you are my lamp, Lord. My God illuminates the darkness around me.” [6]

Blind as I may be, I am kept safe by the loving presence of a God who cares greatly for his creations. No, safe and comfortable are not synonymous, but you can’t very well expect to enter the woods and stay comfortable. You lose things, gain things; maybe you will find peace along the way, perhaps even the peace that comes with letting things fall freely from you—or handing them eagerly to one who can actually carry them. At peace, refreshed, you can carol on or croak out with birds and peeping frogs:

“You…clothed me with joy, that my heart may SING to you and not be silent…into Your hands I commit my spirit…I trust in the Lord. I will be glad and rejoice in Your love…”[7]

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[1] WB Yeats, “The Song of Wandering Aengus”

[2] For a much, much more detailed and fascinating look at how landscape intertwines with story, specifically Märchen, I highly recommend Sara Maitland’s “From the Forest: A Search for the Hidden Roots of Our Fairytales.”

[3] A very tongue-in-cheek excerpt from George MacDonald’s “The Light Princess” that had me laughing out loud the first time I read it.

[4] Psalm 43:3

[5] Psalm 119:105

[6] Psalm 18:28

[7] Excerpts from Psalm 30:11-31:7

Accessorizing

                Thank the Lord, today we have sunshine! I cannot express how welcome it is, that soft, gloriously warm embrace. It’s like being wrapped in a weightless, finest-of-fine blanket; it makes my blood smile & sigh with happiness. I do love winter—it’s my 2^nd favorite season, but I find that the dark days necessitate reminders of sunshine and bright times. With bright textiles of all kinds, winter is a good time to accessorize.

One thing you’ll notice about the genre if you spend much time there is that Märchen comes packed with accessories. Like a well-dressed, classy lady, each tale has a smattering of select items that complement the character and are never tacky. Wise protagonists receive these as gifts, usually magical in a specific way, and protect them until their use becomes clear. Magic rings, bottomless sacks, flowers, scarves, mirrors, telescopes, fish whose mouths yield oddly practical or valuable items… the form they take is endless and varied. The two at the top of my list, though, are a certain pair of shoes and a book.

Picture an ugly, worn pair of boots, leather, brown, scuffed and muddy, in an antique store. They’re too big for you, but you slip them on anyway. It used to be a favorite game as kid, wearing Mom’s sparkly heels or Grandpa’s giant slippers that looked like bear paws. First you stand familiarizing yourself with the fit, admiring the silliness of the look and imagining what it would be like to own the shoes, to know their stories and the experiences they’ll take you through. And then you take a step toward the mirror and zip you no longer stand in a familiar space.  The speed of the movement keeps you off balance. Step zip step zip step zip until you are totally lost. Your thoughts take some time to catch up and with their return comes the realization that you are wearing a pair of SEVEN LEAGUE BOOTS. These babies can take you to the action, and quickly, for every step you take goes a distance of seven leagues[1].

Keep your Prada—I’d take those unprepossessing seven leaguers any day!

Rewind now to browsing the local antique store. Tucked away with old copies of Nancy Drew is another plain item, again one that does not draw the eye except for its quietness and the worn demeanor of being well-loved and oft-read. No title is apparent, so you flip through it to assess the story. The first several pages are promising, so the book goes home with you (after you somehow get back to the store and pay for the boots and book, following your little adventure). This time it takes months to realize what exactly now rests on your shelf. You so enjoyed the story that you go back to it a few months later to reread it but- horror[2]!- the story is gone! In its place is another. Then another. Then another. Every time you read it cover to cover, the story changes and is replaced with a new one. This precious book that would put Barnes & Noble out of business is an undending story book.[3] [4]

Second glances—second chances—can make a radical difference. Neither the boots nor book are much to look at, but then, how many of the things and people we treasure do we value primarily for appearance? It is in life as it is with these boots and book—you have to take things on, turn a lot of pages, before you realize their priceless nature. Faith and a relationship with God can be the same way. It’s a relationship after all, and just like human ones takes time, effort, errors, and forgiveness. One of the lessons that I most treasure from last year is that I’d become too comfortable with my perception of God. I had limited Him and grossly watered down His brilliant glory and power; I had unknowingly taken & distorted a perceived image of Him and attempted to create something I could control. This is not easy to confess and still carries pain for me, despite knowing I am forgiven. Here is an excerpt of something I wrote at the time:

…this is all in answer to my prayer, isn’t it? The one about “breaking You out of my box?” And You’re telling me You were never in it, it’s too small and limited. I did worse than that old highwayman, stretching or hacking off bits of his victims so they fit his table. I blindly and misguidedly took bits & pieces I could handle and made them into a Frankenstein god I thought to contain in the finite box of my understanding then became frustrated when my creature wasn’t as expected, and even worse, walked away from You in anger because of it….what lies I have created and sold myself to. This is about healing not about a box or work or where I live or what’s next. This is about restoration because of unfathomable LOVE because that’s Your business and that’s YOU.”

                 My faith is muddy boots and ratty books; battered treasures that took second glances to become second chances. They are reminders of bright days when I recognized & was forgiven of my transgressions. May you know the value of a double-take, whether it be of an acquaintance, an opportunity, or your own heart. In the same way, don’t let the dark days of winter with their fiercely cold winds howl through and leave ice in your heart, blinding you to the truth that life has more than winter. Find those remembrances of warmth and goodness, and cling to them even if it singes your clothes. The soot stains and burn marks will be more precious than any accessory you could buy, I promise.

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[1] According to a very quick Google query that’s equal to roughly 24 miles.

[2] Yes, horror. Have you ever lost a story you’d fallen in love with? It’s horrible.

[3] I’ve been unable to find a reference to this outside Gail Carson Levine’s Ella Enchanted. Märchen is Märchen in my book though, no matter the vintage.

[4] The magic book reminds me of a favorite verse: “Jesus did many other things as well. If every one of them were written down, I suppose that even the whole world would not have room for the books that would be written.” John 21:25