I love it here

 

July 5, 2021

 

Greetings from Here,

 When I forget this there won’t always be someone to remind me.  So, I make these little post-it notes, and sometimes they get stuck to your life too.

 A little over a month ago I was having lunch with some friends.  We were sitting on a couple logs facing a river, clear, emerald green, silently making its way by us.  A trout entertained us, hovering in the current, a bit of serendipity that still delights me. 

 We ate what simple things we carried, drank our water, and shouldered our packs to continue hiking down the mountain.  I was the last to move, feeling my friends already walking back up to the trail.  I turned to my brother and said: “I love this.”

 I told you all about this moment, and I have lingered there during the weeks since.  It was magic among magic, not the most significant part of the day, but that sense of peace, of fit, of collective belonging, is what keeps rising up. 

 Earlier this week I was sitting in nearly this same spot, in the soft light that first eases night aside.  I was thinking of the new fawns that have been visiting; if I sat still enough, they might appear.  And the thought no sooner settled than they bounced in, these cinnamon-colored sprites, prancing amid the rich verdant backdrop.

 And I thought: “I love it here.”

 Not my yard.  Not Yosemite.  Not simply Summer.  All of that, yes, but all of this too.   I love it here.

 It is a patchwork philosophy, but I have come to believe that we were created to feel this way.  In my own way, I have tried to share the idea that we are closest to our Creator when we live out what he put in us.  Our gifts, our joy, our gratitude, our love, and whatever we have to offer others.  Sometimes, in the midst of what might make us smaller, we are given these moments to inspire us to be all of what we are meant for.

 It has rained here this week, storms that filled the sky with bold flashes and made the ditches overflow into new rivers.  The storm changed plans, frightened puppies, soaked basements, drenched clothing not meant for that much water.  Not every day is idyllic.

Even so, I remember a few moments, listening to thunder as I turned on my pillow, or laughing out loud in awe as I watched lightning arc across the sky as I drove through the torrents.  Not all beauty is framed in bliss.

 There is work to do, some of it is hard, not all of it is satisfying.  There is the mundane, there is the painful, there is the unfair.  There is violence and madness and incurable and unsolvable.  I know, I saw that too.

 I won’t pretend that I am not touched by the caustic news, or angry people, or any of the ordinary challenges that face any of us in a week.  In fact, I may have spent more of my life reacting to those hard moments than I have embracing the beauty that waits in the same experiences.  But, perhaps I’m learning, finally.

 I was running in the woods a few miles from here, and I caught sight of color in the corner of my eye.  It was a pride of runners, a young cross-country team out for a training run.  I folded in with them for a little while, trying not to look too awkward among their lithe grace.   It was what I imagine it is like swimming with the dolphins. We cruised along the path, the only sound was our breathing and the soft pat of our shoes on the earth.  We parted ways, and I clambered up the bluff to look over the tops of the trees and I thought: “I love it here.”

 My sister called me last night.  I can’t understand all of what she is going through, the pain, the fear, the ache of waiting, the unending moments of not knowing.  I could see the anguish in her, feel the cold edge of her suffering.  When we hung up, I felt a little hollowed out, wondering as we all have about why this life, so steeped in joy, holds such misery.

 She loves it here.  That’s why she hates to leave.  It’s not an abstract thought, it’s the reality now etched in her.  In the moments after we spoke I realized that’s what had touched me.  And, in spite of the ache of the moment, I thought: “I love it here.”  It was as powerful as any joyful epiphany I’ve had. 

 I can already feel myself moving to see Leslie.  I already see the roads and planes and minutes unroll in front of me as I make my way to where she is holding on to what she loves.  I don’t have answers, it may be that the only thing I will add to her day is to sit next to her and say: “I love it here.”

 Coffee with a friend.  Running a fast mile.  Writing the idea that has been waiting.  The first taste of a cold beer on a hot summer evening.  Listening to stranger tell you what they couldn’t tell anyone else.  Feeling Ila reach for my finger so she could step down the curb.  Watching a heron wait patiently for whatever was next.  I hold these moments and countless others and feel what I think was planted in me from my first day.  I love it here.

  

Hope this finds you feeling it,

 

David

 

 

 

Copyright © 2021 David Smith