I spent the weekend in Kirkland. My wife was going to a workshop
Saturday and Sunday, and I figured it would be a good time to get some
uninterrupted writing in, to spend some time with just the wife in the
evenings, and to get some bike riding in. Then I read the weather report. It
was supposed to rain all weekend. So I left the bike at home.
Saturday went as planned. I wrote. My wife workshopped (not
a word, using it anyway). Then we spent time together in the evening as adults
without kids. We appreciated little things like going to a restaurant without
trying to keep the three-year-old in the building and the one-year-old out of
our neighbor’s food. We sat down and did not have to immediately stand to chase
a child. We did not change a single poopy diaper. In short, we luxuriated in
life’s simple pleasures.
Then, on Sunday, tragedy struck. It did not rain. In fact,
it turned into a beautiful day. This may not seem like a tragedy to you, but
then you are probably not an obsessed cyclist without his bike on a beautiful
day surrounded by roads that beg to be ridden and hills that beg to be climbed.
So I spent the majority of the morning trying not to mope and failing. I wrote
a bit. Used the hotel exercise room a bit. Packed my suitcase. Wasted time on
the internet. Then I checked out of the hotel because they don’t let you use
the room the whole day if you don’t plan on staying another night.
I drove around aimlessly and in a funk, looking at each road
as an un-bike-ridden-by-me affront. I got a sandwich and watched the last
quarter of the Browns and Steelers game in which the Browns tried desperately
to throw away every advantage. They were successful. Watching the
Steelers win did little to improve my mood.
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| The old seminary at Saint Edwards State Park |
Then I drove to Saint
Edwards State Park and went to church. Sort of. You see, there are no church
services at Saint Edwards State Park. But there is an old seminary that was
built in the 1930s. Walking around the old seminary made me feel like I was
someplace holy. Like the sum total of prayers that were prayed in that place
over the decades had consecrated the grounds, made the very grass and air feel
slightly ethereal.
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| The grotto |
There’s this grotto just a hundred yards or so from the
seminary building. It’s this little concrete and river stone structure that
sits on a bluff overlooking Lake Washington. When you walk by it, stand next to it, and feel the stones, it too feels holy. People worshipped God there. And
echoes of those songs and psalms and prayers linger in that place.
There’s a winding path that takes you from the top of the
bluff to the beach below. It is wide and smooth and overshadowed by trees with
leaves more red and yellow than green. It is cool and dark, like a corridor in
a cathedral. It rounds one final bend and spills you out onto the beach. The
wind was blowing, the waves were lapping the shore, and the sun was just warm
enough to take the sting out of my fingers as a sat on a log and reveled in the
beauty of God’s work. It was quiet there, like a sanctuary. There were people sitting
and standing and walking, but all quietly. Reverently? Maybe that’s a stretch.
I sat and prayed because it felt like to not do so would be disrespectful
somehow. Like walking past a good friend on the street and not saying hello or
offering a friendly handshake.
But that’s not quite right. Because when I see a good friend
on the street, I’m excited. I do not smile and shake hands and hug out of
obligation. I do it out of a natural expression of my love. And that’s what I
was doing on that beach. I noticed God, being God, doing beautiful things, and
my heart soared. How could it not?
An aside on replacing church with hiking/biking/nature
watching: I am not a fan of people replacing time in God’s house, in church
with God’s children, with time alone in nature. I’ve seen too many good people
walk away from God because they forgot the sound of His voice speaking through
the words and deeds of other believers. I’m not saying that skipping a service
to go on a hike will make you an unrepentant sinner. What I’m saying is that
replacing all services with hikes might lead you to become an unrepentant
sinner. We should not replace the Creator with admiration for His creation. But
that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t admire work done well. Love the artist and
admire the art.
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