Having grown up in Northern, Lower Michigan I've always been fond of hills or any variance in the terrain for that matter. It's intriguing and a break from the sublime monotony. Like breezes on the surface of a pond, light filtering through a forest canopy, or rock jutting up through a dolomite prairie, it catches one's eye. That's not to say other senses are void of distinguishing changes. The slightest hint of wood-smoke can beckon me off course like a mosquito drawn to soft, pink flesh. The scent of white pines in a forest of other trees can do that too. I compare it to a lock and key. Deep in the recesses of the deoxyribonucleic acid that is on the chromosomes within my cells; these sense triggers can focus my brain and bring me alive. There are many examples of the different senses but only some resonate and connect me. On a ring there may be several keys, but only one can be inserted to turn the lock. Likewise, only certain senses open me up. Spongy moss, soft fern fronds, and hickory fibers of steel are products of touch. A dried leaf flapping against its branch, like a fledgling bird soon to be pushed from its nest, will soon enough be released by new buds. It's once noble duty retired to the forest floor. Booming ice echoes off the shores as frozen, tectonic plates shift and grind in the eternal freezing and thawing process. It is an ebb and flow of expanding and shrinking water molecules whose sounds pound into your chest and awaken both your attention and your fears. Trickling water is an hour glass of time's passage. So are my years. So much experienced and accomplished. So much desire and things yet left to do. Who am I to wish beyond my expiration date? Instead, I simply ask that with the time I have, help me to live life to the fullest and to finish with nothing left whenever that ending time might be. It might be within the hour or it might be 48 1/2 years from now. Regardless, the blessings are countless, though I try to reflect on them as they are the fuel that I ingest to spur me on. That, and the forgiveness, grace and mercy granted by God himself, to move past my mistakes and use the free will He's given me to forge ahead. It's His humor. It's His sovereignty.
God works, I know, from the inside out. For me, my senses detect his creation and its many facets. The wonder of it all is how He moves from this to me. More importantly is how He can then move from me to others. In this way one realizes that it truly, "Isn't about me," as the saying goes. Instead it is God working his plan through me. He uses me, the guy sitting here on the bank of an otherwise lonely river. I am surrounded by snow and woods, the sound of geese in the distance and the sight of an immature bald eagle banking up over a bend in the river. The scent of wood smoke now permeated into my clothes and pores; the remnants of the fire that cooked my eggs, sausage and potatoes, now reduced to powdery ashes. Breezes rattling bank-side grasses and fingers now cold and stiff are all part of the process. All are part of the plan. It's His story that I get to participate in. To that end I really don't care what side of the "hill" I'm on. Like warriors of old, I'd rather say, "Let's take the Hill!" Whatever I do, wherever I'm at, and whoever I'm with, let's attack life with vigor. I'd rather go all out, try my best and work hard at it then lie in complacency. I can apply those standards to my career, at home, with my family, when I work, when I'm at rest and when I play. And when I look back at my life so far I usually do, so for that I am thankful. My mantra, through Christ who strengthens me is, "Work hard. Play hard. Life in training." That works for me and is me. Like my dogs who sit beside me, I'm ever alert, full of life, and ready to play. It's effort with purpose. See you along The Way...
