Into The Mountain

    Imagine looking around and all you see is a darkness. This isn’t an empty darkness. This isn’t the black of a void. This is an earthy black, like looking at the bottom of a cavern. You know color exists there, but the fullness of the darkness dampens any nuance of color.

    So here you are, in darkness, but not emptiness, surrounded by color, but unable to see it, when suddenly a stream of white swirls its way through the darkness. I say stream almost literally. This white is fluid, dancing as it breaks apart and wisps its way through the once colorless expanse. The brightness of this white doesn’t overpower the dark, but it illuminates the once hidden tones of hickory and sienna. The white is no longer white. The dark is no longer dark. But now you are surrounded by a dynamic and whimsical ballet. It’s as if you’re standing in the center of the Northern Lights looking through brown-tinted lenses.

    This is beautiful.

    This is novel.

    This is a fairy tale.

    This is a cup of coffee…

    No, really. This morning as I poured my International Delight Caramel Macchiato creamer (yes, I use sugary creamer, want to fight about it?) into my coffee, I watched the creamer swirl through the coffee and thought it was beautiful. Then I began to think about how many times I’ve done the same thing — pour creamer into coffee, without seeing what was actually happening. There’s actually something visually stunning taking place, but I’m so used to it, and so caught up in the practicality of coffee, that I ignore the beautiful alchemy happening underneath my nose. I rush past the spectacular to dwell in the pragmatic.

    Isn’t this how life is sometimes? Most times? We get so caught up in the hustle that we rush past the truly beautiful moments that are available to us. We’re so concerned with finishing the work on our computer that we hush the songs of our children instead of singing at the top of our lungs along with them. We’re so concerned with getting to dinner on time that we ignore the sunset in the background so we can curse the driver who shouldn’t be in the passing lane. We get so caught up in all the wrong details.

    This reminds me of the moment in the Bible where God tells Moses, “Come up into the mountain, and be there…” (Exodus 24:12 KJV). I don’t remember where, but I’ve heard somebody speak to the redundancy of this statement. “Go there, and be there.” Why would God need to add the second part of that statement? If Moses went up on the mountain, how could he not “be there”?

    God knows us. He knows our tendency to be there but not really be there. He knows our tendency to be at the dinner table but to really be at work. He knows our tendency to be at the park with our kids but really be planning the chores that need done when we get home. “Go there, and be there,” because we have to learn to be present in the moment instead of bodily there and mentally somewhere else.

    I know that we can’t live in the clouds. I know that things actually need done. Laundry needs washed. Dinner needs cooked. Work requires 40 hours a week (if you’re lucky). But there’s more to life than that. Kids don’t stay young forever. Love grows cold if you don’t stoke the fire. Books don’t read themselves. Life goes on even if you don’t find yourself engaging in it.

    This is my reminder to myself and my encouragement to you: Engage in life. Be present. Enjoy the little moments. Go on the mountain, and be there. God made us for more than the hustle. Toil didn’t happen until after the fall. By all means, have the coffee. But for goodness’ sake (really, for your own sake), enjoy the creamer too.