Living in downtown Burlington, WA is like living in a High School gymnasium. Between the trains, the semis, the motorcycles and the hotrods, the noise constantly reverberated around us. Now we’re out on aptly named “Pleasant Ridge.” Karisse brought home some chicken from the store and, since we now have a portion of outside space for our use, we grilled chicken, vegetables and fresh corn from Schuh Farms and ate a quiet meal, watching Mount Baker’s silver head, majestic on the northeastern horizon. It took me back to my youth in the Andes, where on a clear day and from the right vantage point, one could see at least three major snow-capped peaks, silver heads against the blue, standing ever-so-still against the movements of human endeavor.
Such silver heads are full of the wisdom of the slow. Though the winds blow around them, the snow come and go, hikers and climbers plant their footprints on them over and over again, the mountain sits there, its heartbeat on the scale of centuries and millennia, putting our frenetic seconds and minutes like a few raisins in a very, very big bowl.
And yet there is another stillness, born not of slowness but of eternity. It knows every moment to be Now, that steps off the timelines of our lives into the ever-present eternity of God. That eternity is our truest home. The silver heads point us in that direction, if we will but let their slowness stop us long enough to know the Now. Touching that all-encompassing realm teaches our hearts the wisdom to live in loving justice on the timelines we share with one another.
It is good to see the mountain.
Photo credit: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mount_Baker