July 17, 2021

The music from my neighbors house tonight pushed me so close to the edge of insanity by dinnertime that I had to get away from it before I blew my stack on an innocent bystander in my home. So I found myself at my favorite place once again seeking quiet, and perhaps a word from God.

He did not disappoint.

From my usual spot I can enjoy watching people fish from the dock on the other side of the lake while also getting a splendid view of the ducks and the water from my side. Today when I drove up and around the curve towards my favorite spot I experienced an unknown reflex in my steering action, finished the circle in the (sorta) cul-de-sac, and headed back the way I came. I didn’t really know why, but I had a thought to check things out from the other overlook this particular visit.

I coasted my Nissan Sentra into a parking place, applied the e-brake, shifted the gear selector out of first and into neutral, unhooked my seat belt, pushed the seat all the way back, and criss-crossed-applesauce right there in the driver’s seat. Once I was comfortable I looked out over the water and realized that the panoramic view from this vantage point was considerably wider and allowed me to see much more of the lake and surrounding scenery.

It was lovely…but something was missing. Hmm…

I took in the view before me for several moments: the people fishing from the dock, the children playing on the opposite shore, the ducks meandering through the water, the gentle breeze whispering through the trees and overgrown brush. But I wasn’t experiencing the peace that I normally do when I visit here. I sat for several more minutes and continued to take it all in. Then, I unfolded my legs, pulled my seat back into position, released the e-brake, shifted into reverse, backed out of my parking spot, and pointed my car towards the other side of the lake: my side.

I drove the 75 yards to my parking spot and backed myself in so as to get my usual and familiar view of the lake. As I did I felt the peace I am used to begin to wash over me from the top of my head all the way to my toes. I breathed a sigh of relief as I looked out over the water, and very quickly realized what the other view of the lake was missing: the reflection of the evening sun over the water.

Now, I am sure there are much prettier sunsets to be seen in many other parts of the world but I find myself partial to the sunsets here. Maybe it’s because God has chosen to speak to me so often as I watch them. I don’t really know. But the main reason I come to this spot is to watch this particular dance in creation.

And here is what the Holy Spirit spoke to me through this one.

Tonight I experienced a broader view of the lake from a vantage point that did not include a full view of the sun. I was able to take in a wider expanse of the landscape, but it was dull and left me wanting more. More of what? At the time, I wasn’t sure.

My life before Jesus felt like that. Everything appeared lovely and peaceful as I planned the ‘perfect’ fate for myself, but there was always a dullness that overshadowed the generous glimpse of my view of this life. Something was missing, and I couldn’t put my finger on exactly what that was.

The water is so beautiful from my favorite side of the lake when the sun is setting over it. But I can’t see as far. I can’t see the length of the lake from this vantage point or the depth of the landscape surrounding it. I can only see as far as the width from one shore to the other, and that is actually a very small view in comparison.

My walk with Jesus today is a lot like that. I can’t see very far. In fact, I can’t always see the very next step I am supposed to take. I only know by faith that Jesus is there to take it with me. And the view, no matter how small it may be, is magnificent.

Now faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen.

Hebrews 11:1 NKJV