I woke up early and drove up to Cesar's Head to just be alone and sit in stillness.
I'm sitting on the face of a rock ten times my size, that's rippled like the shore of the ocean from years of wear but compleatly crack-less.
There's a fence in front of me keeping curious people off the ledge and safely on the crack-less rock.
So much of the last two weeks are pictures by this place. Me being kept on the rock by the fence of God's love.
Why is it so hard to be back home, when I felt like it was so hard to be gone?
Why am I so lonely, when I craved aloneness for almost seventeen days?
I slept at the house alone and woke up alone and have spent hours this morning alone.
My introvert heart should be thrilled, but it just begs for distraction.
So I came out to the quiet hoping to silence the stirring that screams aloneness and the mundane are purposeless.
The two loudest cries of my heart are "perfection" and "purpose".
When I see how these two things fail to be present in my present I feel the depression setting in.
Well, maybe lack of sleep and airplane food contribute too. Either way this embodied soul struggles today.
Siting on this little mountain, I hear your beauty.
Why make birds sound so pleasant or give the bee a life that pollinates flowers for my visual pleasure?
Why create the beauty of mountains being unveiled by morning fog?
Why create multiple layers of blue in the mountain range or valleys that fall between them?
Is there any purpose greater than to point to you?
Or is their greatest pleasure bigger than showing how great you are?
Why create trees that grow at different heights or leaves that hold multiple colors?
Why make a chill morning meet a hot noon?
Why put sand in colorful piles or leaves on tiny missed weeds?
All to remind the melancholy heart to look and see you.
All to remind the mission-trip-returner that nothing is mundane because your glory is always being worshipped.
As I finish looking out at all of what I could take in, a man in a blue polo and khakis walks to the edge of the fence, coming from the path behind me. He smiles and nods towards my journal and pen and smiles as he says that this is a good place to write.
I smile and nod back because I know, more than what I'm writing, something is being written in me.
He's writting it clear and purposeful on the parchment of my active heart;
"Rejoice oh child of God
Lift your eyes to see
With every morning light
Again we are redeemed"
