The passing of another day

 

I’VE SEVERAL STORIES TO TELL YOU of our September days in the mountains, this being our first early Autumn here in the Blue Ridge. We come and go with great frequency as our primary lives are still lived in South Carolina’s midlands–work, precious friends, and a home with a demanding yard keep us rooted there.

But we do love it here. And even now, after a summer full of early mornings, we still climb out from under the covers, rise in the dark and most every day go out to greet the sun.

I mean. How could you not?

 

blueridge4

 

BEFORE I GET TO THOSE STORIES I want to mention something that’s been on my mind, a thought harbored there that brings so much else about this place into focus. I’ve been thinking about the many reasons, for me, these mountains have such a strong pull. There are my Southwestern Virginia roots, of course. Generations go back there on my mother’s side; my people are mountain people. But it feels as if there is more to it than that. There is the landscape itself, and our particular view of it here. A person can rather miraculously stand in one place, look to the left, and watch the sun rise. You need not move to see it traverse the sky–throwing spectacular and always-changing shadows across the ridges in font of you. Then at day’s end, from the same spot, simply look right for its magical sinking into the trees. The experience of this journey is different each time, the sun’s position, the clouds, the season and the weather creating a humbling show that quite literally takes your breath away.

 

blueridgesunrise1
to the east, 7:24 a.m.

 

blueridgeday
to the south, 4:21 p.m.

 

blueridgesunset
to the west, 7:59 p.m.

 

How remarkable it is to watch the sun rise, then see the sun set, and to be aware–totally and completely aware–of the passing of another day. To be alive in it, yes. But to be conscious of it. To intentionally and gratefully mark it. To see the bookends and acknowledge a day has passed.

These mountains. They sure want me to notice.

I am grateful.

 

XXOO

 

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Day 8: Coming Down by Going Up

 

 

WHEN YOU EXPERIENCE a week as beautiful as Montreat Music and Worship, you do well to plan a soft landing into daily life. You are filled to overflowing, yes. And you carry with you joy, of course, smiling without effort as you hum this phrase and that, the words occurring without thought and somehow matching the mood and grace of the moment. Without even knowing it we had designed our re-entry perfectly, our plan to extend this mountain time through the weekend at our own place, 2500 feet higher but still surrounded by North Carolina’s Pisgah National Forest.

(Oh, the singing did carry on.)

 

WE ARRIVED LATE FRIDAY, Cindy and Eddie, Tim and I, and we headed straight for the back porch. We looked up to find the night sky clear and dotted with stars and constellations and whirling planets so bright it brought from all four of us a grand, gasping awe. And then there was silence, each of us standing in that darkness lost in the brilliance of it all: the vast possibilities of an endless universe, the sober perspective of our tiny place in it, the unfathomable promise of a God who sees and knows and cherishes our loving hearts, each and every one. And then we looked at the clock and in spite of the past-midnight hour, we poured a toast to the music, the mountains, the stars, and to the great blessing of friendship.

 

SHALL WE GET UP for the sunrise? I asked a bit later, the hour so advanced it seemed a ridiculous, yet somehow important, offering.

Cindy smiled a slow, broad smile.

How can we not? she said.

And so we did.

We were rewarded, too, with Day 9’s fun surprise.

 

#30DaysofFun

 

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