Quiet moments

The last six months have taught me a lot about myself. I stepped back from some activities and relationships that have been profoundly important to me for years and spent most of my days in my own company. I read more books in this short time than I had in the last five years combined. I walked a lot, sat on park benches, listened to the creek, thought, prayed, played my keyboard, and came back to the basics of who I am. And I realized that it is truly the little things that give me the most pleasure. Sure, I'm like everyone - I love those extravagant surprises that come along, like unexpected vacations or surprise birthday parties. But I find the deepest joy in the little details of the day that can get lost if the lighting is wrong.

One of my truest joys is to make someone smile. I find myself driving the eight miles into town pretty much everyday, not that I always need to, but just to be around people. I don't always engage in long conversations, but I just want to be around other humans. I enjoy seeing their personalities come out in little, unplanned pieces. I love to walk into the post office and connect with someone's eyes long enough to smile and let them know they are important. It always amazes me how quickly a tired, tense face can melt to reveal who is really inside. On the other hand, it has also been fun to see the gentle, appreciative smiles of many who walked by as I was reading in a sunny spot. They didn't give me the "you should be doing something!" look, but instead seemed to take pleasure in the fact that I had found a quiet moment of enjoyment.

Another great fascination with me has to do with nature. I walk pretty much every day and I live in an amazing place. Literally hundreds of thousands of people come through this valley every year on their way to see Yellowstone and Grand Teton National Parks. At any given moment, I can look out a window or across the horizon to see breath-taking landscapes. But for some reason, I have become obsessed with the little details: a leaf hanging like a gold coin from a wet, chocolate branch; the almost countless varieties of grasses, all reflecting the sunlight a little differently; the eagle that sits on the same branch at precisely the same time everyday; the smell of the morning fog. These are the treasures my mind has stored up.

Although it was a very lonely break in some respects, I feel more grounded. I feel that I now have so much more to give; so much more to offer. In the quiet, I allowed myself to go deeper into the One who is my anchor. I quieted the nagging voice of my needs and realized again that I need but one thing: to be close to my Creator. Once there, I find myself full. I find hope. I find a calm and joy that I can now take back to the relationships and activities I treasure.