The Abundance of Moving Slow

Many years ago, as my husband and I drove through this area to watch our daughters run in the state cross country meet, we remarked about the beauty of the hills and trees.  Little did we know at the time that we would, a decade later, be living a mile from that same city park.

When we moved here, I slowed my pace from driving through the trees on paved roads to running through the trees on long established dirt trails, following the faithfulness of those who have run before me.

And still now, years later, I look forward to that slower pace, running through the fellowship of trees, the emerging beauty in all seasons, the welcoming shade in the dead heat of summer.  Even in the dailiness of it, I still see this wilderness with different eyes, grasping a new perspective on my feet.  And as I run, I begin praying and thinking differently about what is before me in that day and what is on my heart.  I can enter the woods troubled or confused or overwhelmed, and when I emerge back home, I see things with a fresh angle.  Not that everything is suddenly solved or I master the difficulty, but God works a bit on my heart.

The other day, I was walking through the trees, an even slower pace, a different space even on trails I am so familiar.  Because I was walking, instead of running, I could see even more because I was not so occupied by ambushes along the way of tree roots, rocks and rough places that trip me up.

As I was coming down one stretch of trees as far as I could see, the beauty of God's creation stopped me in my tracks.  The sunlight was cutting through the deep green, the intense blue of the sky a backdrop of His glory showing through the branches and lighting up the woods.

The picture doesn't do it justice.

And a verse suddenly popped almost audibly in my thoughts:

Be still,
    and know I am God.

                  Psalm 46. 10

It also made me so thankful for the vision someone had so many decades ago, to set aside this land for the common good, to plant big trees, to plant a lot of trees, to allow them to grow unhindered, and to let God bring His glory to it.

We rarely see the fruitfulness of our work,
          but someone else
      is profoundly impacted by it,
sometimes for a brief moment,
sometimes for all eternity.

The point is this:
whoever sows sparingly
will also reap sparingly,
and whoever sows bountifully
will also reap bountifully.

              2 Corinthians 9. 6

Plant big trees.
Plant a lot of trees.
Even a simple kindness,
even an encouraging word,
even a forest,
    and let God bring the fruit.

Pray continually.
Live faithfully.
Love well.
Practice grace.