Me, Davy and baby E
Back in 2010, Fort Mountain was a regular escape for me. It is a beautiful place–a mountain state park with hiking trails, a really awesome ancient fort, and (my personal favorite) an amazing lookout point that makes you feel as if you are walking right out into the sky. You can see for miles–probably thousands of miles. At least it seems that way.
I had many a conversation with God there. But somehow, through the hum-drum business of life, I have kinda forgotten about our conversations lately.
We made a trip up the mountain last weekend, and it was extremely refreshing. Funny thing, today as I was going through some desk drawers I came across an old journal with an entry entitled “Fort Mountain Thoughts” (I had written it while sitting on a big rock on top of the mountain one day). As I read it, something was re-kindled in my heart, and I wanted to share it with you.
I hope you enjoy. Perhaps this will inspire you to take to the mountains for a good, soul cleansing hike in the coming weeks as fall peeks around the corner.
Fort Mountain Thoughts
How often I feel frustrated because I do not — can not — comprehend God. But how often my lack of comprehension is made deeper by my lifestyle of self-focus and introspect. I spend so much time running around in circles in my mind, my world gradually becomes smaller and smaller until I am practically living in a small room of mirrors — like the one the Phantom of the Opera used to drive Raoul to insanity. It really does make you want to use the gun.
That’s one thing I hate about the city. With all of its man-made edifices stretching out for miles, it is practically impossible to “Be still and consider the wondrous works of God,” because we can’t see them — we’ve blocked them all out with fancy sky-scrapers and cement walls. Even the parks are, in a way, man’s works of art.
I don’t live in the big city — in fact, I really live in the country. But I think I’ve taken on the city mentality in a way. I don’t remember the last time I sat still and really considered the works of God. I’m too busy worrying about my daily to-do list and being afraid that my future won’t turn out the way I want it to.
When I come up into the mountains, and sit on a gigantic boulder, with my bare feet hanging down into wild blueberry bushes, and I gaze out onto the rolling carpet of the earth — it stretches so far that the edges are blurred by the clouds — and the clouds, oh, I could just about reach out and touch them from where I sit — I gain some
How can you help considering God’s works when you can’t get away from them?
From up here, man’s great cities look puny and miniscule compared to the vast grandeur of the Blue Ridge Mountains. There are so many trees! Why don’t I notice them more when I am down amongst them?
I hear something move in the bushes and I feel so helpless–what is man, really, to fend for himself in the wilderness of God’s creation? “Who is man, that you should think of him?”
I wish I could come here every morning, and start my day in awe of God, and end every night up here, gazing at the stars.
Can you imagine how many stars you could see from up here? I feel like if I stood on my toes and spun around I could see the whole world.
In the midst of these thoughts I accidentally smashed an ant with my thumb and I feel as if it were a tragedy. I think it was.