kayaking

He says, “Be still, and know that I am God; I will be exalted among the nations, I will be exalted in the earth.”
Psalm 46:10

Honestly, it’s always been this way. It is in the stillness that I find God most.

Due to stories much too long and complicated to tell here, I was a Type A, driven, chatterbox until about age 30. “Most Humorous” in my senior class; “Miss Congeniality” twice in the county pageant; “Social Butterfly” according to my mom. But beneath all the silliness and chatter there was mostly a scared human being, spinning like crazy to try to be what I thought others wanted.

Still, there were a few worlds where I stopped spinning and just observed in silence and awe. Sleeping in a tent in the forests of New Mexico, when I could lay awake at night and listen to the wind in the pines; sitting on the edge of a canyon in the Colorado Rockies; pausing at the top of a ski run; sitting with my journal by a tumbling stream, or early morning lake, or the ocean if I got really lucky. And a couple of times, touching the tops of the trees from a hot air balloon.

It was in those places that I found God…or he found me. There were other places, and other ways that he called out to me too, don’t get me wrong. But these places remain sacred to me still. Like entering a great cathedral, sunbeams floating down from stained glass, I enter a forest trail, or sit by the water.

Kayaking has joined the list of such spaces. There’s something so elemental about being in the water. No by it, not a few feet above it. In it. I can trail my fingers, or even my toes if I want to (and I have). I’ve been blessed enough to go three times in the last month on a piece of the St. Jo that is wide, slow, and mostly empty this time of year. It’s so wide and slow there are spots thick with lily fronds, marsh grasses, swans, and the occasional jumping fish. And I always see at least one Great Blue Heron.

Last Friday, I made the trip alone, and it reminded me again that solitude is simply something I treasure. Not that I didn’t enjoy the trips with friends and family, but the alone-ness just opens up my heart and mind to God in a way that nothing else can. In some ways, it feels like he has just been waiting for me to have time and space for a conversation, and now that I’m sitting in his living room, he starts to talk. This is My Father’s World washes over my soul again and again. In the rustling grass, I hear him pass; he speaks to me everywhere.

So, because I’m alone (with the birds and fish), I actually sing. I stop caring about all the things that weigh me down; all the decisions I must make; all the things that could go wrong; all the noise in my head. I stop paddling and just listen. And I think about the lilies of the field and the birds of the air and how they don’t fret. I think about how beautifully the Creator has dressed them; and about how not even one sparrow can fall without him knowing. I think about how, when I finally stopped trying to be the Type A, driven, roll-up-yer-sleeves-an-git-er-done girl, I saw him doing that for me too.

Now, I’ve owned the truth that I am a left-handed, right brained, creative type who’s actually more intro- than extroverted. I’m a stop-and-smell-the-roses-and-if-you’ve-time-cut-a-bouquet type. I’ve slowed way down, and that’s okay. Others may not understand; still others may be envious. Either way, it’s okay. My chief goal is no longer trying to please, or be what others want. Now I’m free to just be who God made me to be.

For last Friday, at least, that was a woman who loves kayaking.