My heart, O God, is steadfast, my heart is steadfast; I will sing and make music.
Awake, my soul! Awake, harp and lyre! I will awaken the dawn. Psalm 47: 7, 8
So yesterday the boys were sitting around too much. I decided to do the perky aunt thing and haul Harry and Igor up Pusch Ridge- in a futile attempt to get to Finger Rock, “a distinctive landmark resembles a closed hand with the index finger extended to make a #1 sign. This is Finger Rock, a 200 foot rock formation, with the extended finger at about 80 feet. The hike starts out easy for the first mile, then progressively gets harder as the trail begins to steepen. Continue hiking along the right side of Finger Rock canyon for about an hour and a half to about 5000 feet elevation level. This is right after several sections of steep hiking up rock slabs (Localhikes.com).” Right before the rock slabs is where I could not keep up with the very loose but steadfast jaunt of Harry or the very determined and steadfast tromp of Igor. I sent them on their way, all of us misjudging how close the finger was rising.
I sat on my rock for an hour. Under the bright blue sky, and watched the purple shadows move across the orange cliffs, and the trembling hummingbirds and the swaying ocotillo with that perfect late-afternoon glint. And my soul awoke and sang in its peculiar off-key way and it was good.
And when those boys came back and I said, “Wasn’t that amazingly beautiful?” they said, “Uh, yeah, sure,” the undertone implication being of course, “Whatever.” And I am just like them, a lot, focusing on the steadfast and missing the journey.
Particularly as I move through the next two or three days, with all the sweet rolls and quiches and cut-up fruit and pots of coffee and dishes to wash and deliberate conversations and trundling back and forth down Speedway with its myriad stoplights, may I move beyond steadfast.
And sit on a rock and notice. His great glory and love wrapped up in a simple little bundle lying in a manger.
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