A mutual friend suggested I check out Nathan Foster's Wisdom Chaser: Finding My Father at 14,000 Feet, a spiritual memoir about re-connecting with God and his father (also an author... Richard Foster). I asked Nathan if he would give us a guest post, and here's what he sent in. I enjoyed it a great deal, and I'm sure you will, too. In which case, be sure to check out Nathan's book.
It had been a rough night in the little cave I’d slept in. The ground was bumpy and angled at a slope. Last night the allure of sleeping in a rocky mountain cave seemed worth the inconvenience. But, I didn’t anticipate the hours would be filled with sleepy visions of a lost bear stumbling upon my borrowed patch of earth. I don’t think I’ll ever sleep in a cave again.
It was a Sunday morning and all around the world countless faithful sheep were stumbling into sanctuaries, with worn hope and the fresh wounds of the week’s chaos. I thought of them as I knelt beside my little fire and brewed the morning coffee.
It was just before dawn; all the forest creatures knew it. Some softly scurried about their morning activities trying not to disturb the quite hush of the approaching sunrise. Others lay waiting in anticipation.
The chorus always begins with that impatient bird that can no longer contain its enthusiasm and ignites the morning chirping. Little by little the whole choir of birds join in, welcoming a new day with harmonious procession, declaring with all the beauty they can muster from their tiny breath that the world is bathed in the joy and love of God.
All around me God’s great book of creation was being preached.
I gently listened to the poetic growl of a distant river that flowed all day and night, never taking a holiday off. It echoed God’s faithfulness.
I watched the trees dance in the breeze and I thought of the how important it is to be flexible if I’m to follow the ebbs and flows of the spirit.
I watched a spider race towards a recent catch in his web and I thought of the oppression and devastation that marks so many people’s daily lives.
I watched a newly sprouted flower and was reminded that beauty is everywhere if only I take the time to find it.
I listened for the rocks to cry out in praise, I didn’t hear anything. But I remembered the importance of being steadfast and solid in my gratitude; that my quality of life often hinges on being thankful for today’s breath and the people, things and insights that I have and don’t have.
The scurrying butterfly reminded me of the resilience, uniqueness and creativity of others.
And as a hawk submitted to the wind and majestically soared, I remembered the freedom I feel when we let go of trying to have my own way.
I studied the plants, grass and trees scattered about in a chaotic fashion and remembered that in the chaos of life, God remains in the business of making beautiful landscapes out of our messes.
And as my Sunday service concluded, I breathed the morning air, a symbol that every day is a new chance to begin again.