From Here to There and Hereafter

There's that noise in the trees again. The leaves are talking, and their words are secrets because she doesn't speak their language.

Still, she listens because they stir her out of her reverie.

Is the wind conspiring, instigating their rustling for her ears only, or are they conversing excitedly, careful not to conceal their musings from those who can understand?

She's listening too closely because she wants to hear far too much. God's voice is loudest in nature, as long as she listens with the eyes of her heart, where He is. This isn't how it's supposed to be, and with a single thought, she wants to make things right again.

She'd rather have the answers come from herself. She's supposed to know what they are, but the leaves startle her, and she's reminded of her place in the grand scheme of things. It's dreadfully humbling.

If she weren't so preoccupied, she'd thrill at their interruption. She kicks herself for being caught off guard by their voice. It can always be heard, and all she has to do is listen. This is what she'd come for, and how much she's missed already!

She's aware of every step because a walk is good medicine, or the best exercise, or whatever it is they say. Being out in nature does wonders for the psyche. This, she'd learned well.

She'd run enough miles to know what being outside could do for her mood. She'd spent more than enough time on the beach or making up comical synchronized swimming routines in the pool to learn the value of being outdoors.

She'd thrown the basketball around to while hours away. She'd ridden her bike from here to Forrest Gump. She'd gone to the lakeside under moons unnumbered, where she'd built more bonfires for burgers than the friends she'd taken with her.

But she had far too much on her plate these days, all by herself, to waste mental real estate on the sound of gravel beneath her feet. There's a God who made this world, and it could give her more than a playlist, and making good time on her miles.

While conventional wisdom must be applied, nature still rolls out a continuous red carpet. It's up to her to fill the gap and forget about the runner's high. And she discovers that the gravel is still there, and it startles her with the satisfying sound it makes under her feet.

She's not obstacle jumping anymore, either, in charge of a horse as unruly as the wind, as black as darkness and with a name that evokes thunder.

Maybe it's a good thing that she's caught now in the hazy middle of half asleep and running on empty. She's conscious, and that's all it takes to notice the tricks that nature is pulling her into.

Sunshine always gets her attention, but is she fully absorbing how much of it is being poured out in front of her? Light so pools in mid-air that some of it spills over and actually leaks into her soul. Surely that helps the indifference she carries around like weights in an invisible backpack.

Maybe it's the time of day when her world is so thickly saturated with sounds and sights and smells. Late-day light can be intoxicating, even if she's almost passed out.

She's dry, and now that she's getting started, she's glad for the larger bottle of water she grabbed on her way out the door. She'd go for 30 minutes, tops, against sluggishness, nausea and laziness. She feels hideous and looks horrid—whichever fits most accurately. She isn't about to do anything to improve it.

As long as she doesn't miss out on what the outdoors might have for her now, when she's left for dead.

Everything is a process, even if getting outside means cutting corners, because being present is what opens the door to letting nature in. She needs the forest for the trees as much as the water for the waves.

Her shoulders are stooped, and her head hangs low. Her eyes are filling up with tears, and her pace is slow, but tiny birds are touching her soul in big ways. Have they always held big, fat gatherings like this? She doesn't have answers to the problems at hand, but isn't there always an answer? These sweet and pure, loud and rude sounds from birds hidden in branches resonate with her. She's hearing undecipherable words again, telling her what needs fixing.

"No energy," they say.

"What's happened to your strength?"

Their answers are the same as hers and explain just about everything and nothing at all.

The birds might have consulted with the leaves and figured out that God wanted her before she was even born. That's why everything is so loud. She's writing checks her body can't cash, and she can hear the truth of it reverberating like the bells of St. Mary. Leaving her to her own devices and with energy to spare had been like giving a pre-diabetic baby enough sugar to do itself in.

Still the birds sing, the sun blazes, and the rustling leaves crackle. The wind blows like a trumpet, and the water's surface undulates. But that surface comes from a depth that reaches a distant heaven itself. The wind is made to pass over the whole of the planet. The songs are written from an inkwell of praise. Leaves speak by the authority of God's presence on earth, and the sun fires its heat by His word.

It's all music, loudly beautiful and captivatingly orchestrated. If it were written for her alone, it would still only be an overture to the place where she hears from her Father. Everything else is an adornment, albeit elaborate and embroidered with celestial threads.

All of creation has a particular call that sails into the sky and reaches the remote but very real heart of God, and glorifies him from a distance. Her problems don't ask for an answer in nature, where she's run out of words. They question the Creator who put her together.

She could drop at any moment, but at least now they're in tune.

There's a hidden consolation in the oppression of heat and the weight of humidity that makes an outright illness of lethargy. It's the power they have to bake in the scents of flowers, of trees, of water, and the very air of summer itself. Fragrances are intensified and fill the nose to intoxication. For a brief moment, aromatherapy is all it's cracked up to be. And God knows it all too well.

His nudging is there, but it hasn't fully registered in her foggy brain. It's not that His leading needs to be louder for her to obey it, but she's let things slide, so it isn't as recognizable. Does she see the fine line between barely hearing and not believing? It's dangerous to be surrounded by so much beauty. But maybe God understands that, too.

He honours her Herculean effort not to let this go to waste. It was His idea for her to come out and play. He thinks it's worth it to nudge her again. It isn't any louder. The tone hasn't changed, and there's still a smile in it. She hears it simply because it's been repeated.

"This is the way," He intimates.

"You'll see," He may as well have added.

So she moves into the wind. She passes into the breeze and walks into the wild and deliberate path of the lilac trees that line the road. The delicate scent has gained in strength and teasingly makes her wish it would overpower one note more.

Just an octave higher in scent.

There aren't a few trees, and their fragrance doesn't let up. How could she not wish for more of their bouquet the further she goes?

If they could emit more, would her nose only want more and more and more and more?

One more of almost everything, and another dollop on top of that!

Yes, God made these simple, littlest of petals smell out-of-this-world tantalizing. When they're at their peak, they reek with perfume.

Yes, reek.

Because God's involved Himself with her, she thinks there must be a divine hint of what He must smell like in them.

She keeps walking because the world suddenly becomes golden with the setting sun, and because He's made a personal appearance.

No, it's not 'a good tired', but she can look up now and enjoy the endorphins she's worked so hard for.

No, her problems haven't gone away, and there's no guarantee of a forthcoming miraculous healing. If anything, the exercise has exacerbated her symptoms.

But she can watch the orb in the sky and take a breather this side of heaven, where all the trouble began, because she's made a connection with Almighty God. Or, He's made one with her. And someday, one day, she'll walk with the Son Himself because where He is in heaven, she'll be there too, and Paradise has a lot of ground to cover.