My parents live in a little tiny town in rural Oklahoma. This is the town where my Daddy grew up. He is the third generation to live in Walters. I think that we are related to at least a third of the town in some way, shape or form. Even though I never lived here, it feels like home. Everyone seems to know who I am and they always greet me like that long lost family member who finally made it home. They are wonderful selfless people and I am proud to be a part of their history and family.
Another thing I enjoy about the frontier is the beauty of the place. Its beauty attacks all your senses. From vivid green wheat fields in the winter to the beautiful old farm houses of families long ago, I just want to stop and memorize the landscape of this stunning and untouched world. I did not know or appreciate silence until I quieted myself here. Its deafening silence is intoxicating. I can hear God breathing in the silence. The smell of fresh air is one of the experiences I most enjoy. The natural clarity of the air almost smells sweet. My body enjoys every purifying breath. I did not understand the beauty of a sunset until I saw one here. Every shade of yellow, orange, red, and purple dance across the sky while the sun slowly submerges below the horizon. At night, the darkness is remarkable. The darkness illuminates every single breathtaking star in the heavens. Every time I am here, I am always astonished by the beauty of this place.
Experiencing this raw creation is such a grounding event for me. As someone who lives in suburbia, I am constantly surrounded by what man has created-it's inescapable. It is an awesome feeling to be surrounded by what God has created. The vastness of His creation makes me feel small and insignificant but loved all at the same time. That feeling is something I crave; something I need. Whether it be the connection of three generations of family or an faint instinct from mother nature, I know God wants me to meet him in this place. To love him in this place. To know him in this place.
No comments:
Post a Comment