Life, breath, and inspiration

I had waited for the letter for months. Every time I thought about it I would get a little grin across my face and a daydream of my perfect summer. These euphoric imaginings would then, swiftly, shift to crushing anxiety. What if the letter said “no?”

Finally, it arrived, unceremoniously among a bank statement and advertisements for laundry detergent and toilet paper. As I held it, though, the build up of excitement and worry was unbearable. Ripping open the envelope, I scanned the page for words that would dictate the course of my summer. I looked for “accepted,” “called,” “ministry,” “Blue Ridge Mountains,” “Yellowstone,” or “Zion.” The first three words quickly caught my eye. I had, in fact, been accepted to serve as a summer ministry volunteer through A Christian Ministry in the National Parks. My joy slumped, however, as I continued to peruse the letter. The words “South Dakota” hit me like a punch in the gut.

South Dakota? Really, God? You cannot be calling me to South Dakota. This is a joke, right? This has all been working out so wonderfully. But, South Dakota? I’m going to be doing ministry in South Dakota?

I was called to a position leading worship services on Sunday mornings throughout the summer at Blue Bell Lodge in Custer State Park in the Black Hills of South Dakota. I was apprehensive, to say the least, but once I arrived, I instantly knew that I was where I needed to be. My summer, spent working the front desk of the Lodge, planning and leading worship, and enjoying the majesty of God’s creation was unbelievably restorative, transformational, and life-giving. The best way for me to communicate the impact the summer had for me is to share some of the writing I did while there.

“Like Arms in Church”
I always have loved trees — it's part of the reason I love the ents in "Lord of the Rings." Trees have such an interesting atmosphere of permanence and impermanence coupled in utter beauty. Here are my observations from the past few days.

I hiked through an amazing forest on Friday — it was so full of life, you could feel it in the air. The smell of Ponderosa Pines gave the air a unique energy that made my nose tingle and burn and made the air taste sharp and fresh. The day was warm — the warmest we've had yet — and I was hiking in the mid-afternoon with the sun just below directly overhead. The light and heat gave the scent of the pines additional depth and variety, as the areas in direct sun took on a warmer, spicier smell. The pools of refreshing coolness of shade had a softer, subtler smell about them. So, with each step I took, the world renewed itself over and over again for each of my senses.

Further down the trail, I entered into my favorite of all places — an aspen grove. Since I have come to South Dakota, the aspens have metamorphosed from barren, white spires to soft, white spindles tipped with the tiniest and palest of shy leaves that opened and darkened into a fresh, spring green, to the brilliant green that proclaims summer has arrived over the wintry-white bark of the knotty trunks. In this grove, the bark on most of the trees was peeling in fabulous curls of grey and chalky white, the white curls letting the faintest trace of light through their cottony thinness. For several minutes I stood amidst these glorious arbors, listening to the delicate, percussive rustle of the leaves in the wind. I watched and felt the light dancing and sparkling across the path and across my face and arms, and I marveled at God's creativity.

During church services in our outdoor chapel yesterday, we took a few minutes for personal reflection and prayer. I spent most of my time watching the trees around our chapel. We have pine trees all around us, and the wind was swirling excitedly. The pines, stretched tall and thin, defying my perception of gravity and proportion, danced. They swayed and bent and shook all together, led by the wind. Their movement makes the light join in their jubilation — forcing it to dance across the ground as a partner to the leafy dancers high in the air. Streaks of sunlight play in the spaces left by the elegant tree-dancers. Large patches of tall prairie grasses swirl like skirts around the bases of the trees, making even the most stable trunks appear to be in motion. Then, for a moment, the wind ceases, and the movement stills. Once again these magnificent trees seem solid and static and stable. But only for a moment, as the great conductor calls the symphony back to attention and the greatest of all ballrooms fills again with its graceful dance.

A few lines from the song "Every Thought a Thought of You" by mewithoutYou have been running through my head these past few days:

"Every song in praise of You
Our darkest nights are days to You
The trees raise branches high like arms in church to grateful sky
Every song in praise of You"