“I’m asking God for one thing, only one thing. To live with him in his house my whole life long. I’ll contemplate his beauty; I’ll study at his feet. That’s the only quiet, secure place in a noisy world. The perfect getaway, far from the buzz of traffic.” Psalm 27: 4-5
Thanks to the deep and wide generosity of a dear family, we’ve had the privilege of taking our little tribe to a beautiful lake for the week. I can’t even begin to tell you all the fun we’ve had and the memories we’ve made. (Though, if you’re following on Instagram, you’ve probably been seeing some of our #craigstakethelake and #craigcation14 photos.)
We’ve been filling our days with all sorts of amazing adventures, but the moments that have made my heart swell are the quiet times — the peeks into the heart of God. Like the time Asher fell asleep on my chest as Jonny drove the boat back to the dock. Or the time Joseph woke me up, a bigger-than-life smile on his almost-four-year-old face, proclaiming “I YUV YOU MOMMY!” Or the time Jonny and I left our phones inside and watched the sun nestle down for the night.
I think we, as real human people, whether or not we know it, like to “get away” because we don’t really want to “get away” at all. We really want to get closer. We want to reset our own hearts and minds. We want to be pulled into the people we live and breathe for. We want to see and smell and touch the wonders of creation. We want to draw nearer to the one who made it all.
And maybe the most glorious thing of all is that we don’t have to go anywhere to meet God. The beauty of it is that He’s already here. Wherever we are, so is He. Wherever we’re not, He’s there, too. He dwells behind us and before us, and most amazingly, when we ask Him to, within us. He’s poured out for all creation and his majesty reigns on every peak and in every valley.
And that’s good to remember, because sometimes our lives don’t feel beautiful. When we inevitably trudge through those trials, when we’re treading water and desperately trying to keep our heads above water, it’s tough to trust. It’s easy to feel like the only one getting whipped through the waves. It’s easy to believe that everyone else is resting on the beach when we’re barely staying afloat. In those times, I pray that we can adjust our perspectives to see the greater story.
That we can cling, with both hands, to the promised hope we have in our anchor.