In the coolness of lush forested undergrowth there is a healing effect upon the heart. The gurgle and spray of a nearby waterfall teases the senses. Hidden wildlife lurk about, seeing and observing, unnoticed by human passers by.
The pressures of work dissolve here. The chaos of urban sprawl begins to fade. In its place there is the croak of a frog, the singing chorus of multiple avian species, and the ubiquitous dance of fern and Douglas Fir, rock and stream.
And I cry out to God. Purify my heart from all that is wicked and evil in your sight, even as the water tumbling down the mountainside is purified. Cleanse me and make me whole, forming in me a heart that is inclined toward yours, rather than my own carnal devices.
Then I listen. And listen some more. Even though most of my daily routine is spent alone, I still talk too much. To myself. In my own heart. Or to thin air. For now, He bids me to be silent and listen.
At first, all is silent. We listen together, The Lord and I. For a long while. No words. Just presence. Together. I weep. He understands. And continues to listen.
All else begins to fade. The pressures of life, it’s vicissitudes and uncertainties; the jaded tension between hope and realism. In their place for the moment there is simply presence with The Lord.
Our Redeemer. Our Great High Priest. Our King. Our Advocate, who is preparing a place for those who choose to follow Him, who trust his provision for salvation. He now sits at the right hand of the Father praying for us. For me. For you.
And longs to enjoy an audience with you. With words and without. Attentively present and listening.
Come away from the grind of your daily pressure cooker. Attend to him, as he will to you. And listen for he very much desires to speak with you.