Givens Creative

Life at the intersection of faith, nature, history and art

walking

Today’s Word: Restoration

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Cockscomb Butte, Sedona. SJG photo

Centennial Trail in Sedona, Arizona is an easy, short, paved hike, only two-thirds of a mile out and back. More of a stroll than a hike, really. The view is pretty good of the nearby red rock formations, including the imposing Cockscomb Butte. The sunsets are great because it’s a flat, open area and you can see both the sunset itself and the golden light that plays on the mountains to the horizon’s east. So while it’s not much of a trail, the views can be rewarding. But the most interesting thing about Centennial Trail, for me, is the knowledge that it was built on the site of Sedona’s long-time city dump. You can still see the sun glancing off small bits of glass and metal that are the remains of decades of debris. The city restored the area for Sedona’s Centennial celebration in 2002, thus the name.

On Centennial Trail, Sedona. SJG photo

The trail is a reminder that beauty — both the physical beauty of the world and our own inner beauty that flows from the presence of the Spirit of God — can very often lie under our histories of neglect and even abuse. We can walk the paths of our lives and feel like the remains of someone else’s life, not realizing that we are actually choice spots of radiant beauty, vantage points from which others might someday be able to pass en route to glimpsing the glory of God just beyond us. We await only the nurturing touch and the gentle weeding of the gardener’s hand. Restored…we can be restored.

Ask yourself in silence: What is the debris of my life? From what do I need to be restored?

Note: I wrote a similar piece a few years ago about another former city dump in Ft. Bragg, California.

Today’s Word: Perspective

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Chimney Rock, Sedona. SJG photo

This week, Sue and I are in Sedona, Arizona, soaking up the beauty and grandeur of God’s creation as seen in the red rock formations that encircle the town. Look in any direction and the scene before you has the power to take your breath away if you are open to the power of creation to move and inspire you. And it’s pretty easy to feel inspired — that is, full of the breath and spirit of God — when you’re surrounded by such majesty.

But one of the things we’ve noticed as we take our daily hikes is how our perspective on this beauty changes as the trails twist and turn through the foothills. One such trail encircles a formation called “Chimney Rock,” named for the obvious shape of the rock when viewed from a distance and from a certain angle. When approaching the trail from Highway 89A, it would be hard not to say, “Yep, it looks just like a chimney.”

But as we began the slow trek around Chimney Rock, the truth became evident. For Chimney Rock is not a solitary obelisk at all but, in fact, three closely aligned towers. Viewed from this different perspective, we see more than before. Only by immersing ourselves in the landscape, by getting off the highway and onto the footpath, is this made clear.

Chimney Rock, Sedona. SJG photo.

It is a lesson that translates easily to our lives of faith, where we are called to see beyond the obvious, to embrace the opportunity to see God in new ways and from fresh perspectives. Like taking a walk on a serpentine path on which you cannot see the way ahead or know for sure where it ends, our lives of prayer immerse us in the mystery of God and reveal aspects of the divine that we cannot fathom from the place we began.

Ask yourself in silence: Where do I get my view of God? Has it changed over the years? Do I challenge myself to see God in new ways?

And a belated congratulations to my friend and fellow blogger from Boston, Kathleen Matson, for her beloved Red Sox’s victory over my St. Louis Cardinals in this year’s World Series. Next year!

Today’s Word: Labyrinth

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Peace at the center. Mercy Center, St. Louis. SJG photo

Yesterday, while at an ecumenical day of reflection for spiritual directors, I had the opportunity to walk a labyrinth at Mercy Center in St. Louis. I’ve heard and read about labyrinths, but this was my first time experiencing one. Unlike an English garden maze, which I have experienced (and it was frustrating and a little scary…) a labyrinth offers only one path and it’s not out to trick you or get you lost. There are no high hedges to hem you in, only parallel rows of white rocks and a mulched walkway. There’s only one way in and one way out. So setting my own pace and simply following the path, I was moved — however rambling — toward the labyrinth’s peaceful center under a tree.

There’s nothing inherently mystical or sacred about a labyrinth, for it’s the intention and attention of the walker that makes the path holy. But I found it to be a gentle, guiding tool for meditation on the movement of God in my life, a meaningful melding of the spiritual and the physical.

Labyrinth at Mercy Center, St. Louis. SJG photo

It is, of course, an apt metaphor for our spiritual journey, for only by continuing to walk and trusting the path we are on and its Creator can we reach the center where God waits for us, patient as a friend and lover. And like the labyrinth, God is not out to trick us or set traps for us, for when following the way of Christ (“I am the way, the truth and the life…”) we do not need to worry about which way to turn, as long as we keep to the path. The call of the labyrinth, like the call of God, is to quiet our minds, to trust our steps and to move ever forward to the center, the unmoving mover of all.

Ask yourself in silence: Do I trust the path I am walking?  If not, am I on the wrong path?

Today’s Word: Pilgrim

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Life isn't a destination. SJG photo

To be on a journey as a pilgrim — whether real or metaphorical, whether alone or with others — is to walk with the certainty that we are walking a road that many others have travelled before us. And so we are never alone, guided as we are by this communion of saints and common souls— this ragamuffin band — and led by the footprints, signs and traces of all who have come before us.

The wisdom we seek on this journey, while perhaps contained in the writings and experiences of these prior pilgrims, can really only be found by walking the journey and allowing the knowledge to seep into our deepest being. And there we begin to make some sense of the trip, with all its twists and turns, dead ends, false avenues and strange forks in the road. Wisdom lies in our lived and contemplated experiences of our own unique journeys. Wisdom comes in reflection, in the integration of the multitude of our sacred moments with all that we have read and heard. For faith comes through listening, through hearing the sacred word of God in scripture and in the stories of those who walk with us and before us.

A stone in the labyrinth, Mercy Center, St. Louis. SJG photo (click to view larger)

Ask yourself in silence: Am I paying attention to the journey I am on? Am I noticing the turns and watching for the signs that lead me to an abundance of life in God?

Today’s Word: Barefootin’

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Barefootin' on Captiva. SJG photo

One of the things I like best about beach vacations is the ability to spend huge swaths of my day barefooted. When I allow myself to think about retirement and the possibility of months at a time without shoes, a big grin spreads across my face and I must look goofy to anyone around me. Oh, well, a big part of paradise for me is no shoes. I think it has something to do with having a more direct connection with the earth. My feet on soft grass or, better yet, with sand between my toes, the waves gently washing over my feet as I walk along the beach. It’s the connection, unencumbered by leather and rubber soles.

It’s an attitude of linking and bonding that has something to teach us about our approach to God, I think. For when we try to approach God encumbered with the stuff of life, the going can be a little tough. It can be hard to find God with our iPhone attached to our ear or the stock market ticker running through our heads. God help us all if the much-ballyhooed computer screen eyeglasses ever become popular. When that happens, some people will never unplug themselves again. And that’s exactly what we need to do. We need to take time to unplug from the stimuli of our lives, to take off our shoes and approach God as if the very ground we walk upon is holy.

Gifts from the sea. SJG photo.

Ask yourself in silence: What are the “shoes” in my life that keep me from making a direct and full connection with God?

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