I went for a walk in the woods this morning. It’s so nice to feel the cool shade of leaves, and see the sunlight fall in patches on the fallen logs, the brambles and wild grass.
We’re so blessed where we live - just beyond, the woods open out to a view of rolling countryside. I stood watching the wheat blow in the morning breeze, lit by the warmth of the white, spring sun. In the distance, neat houses nestled in the green trees, near the undulating fields, and an occasional church tower catching the light.
You can see my parents’ church from up there. You can see roofs of their village, and trace the road behind the tree-line. I said a little prayer for them.
It’s not easy watching them wrestle with age. My emotions have been all over the place in the last few weeks, and every time I’m forced to contemplate them, it’s like opening a well of endless questions - the kind of questions you shy away from until you absolutely have to face them.
They were down there somewhere, I imagined, probably wheeling breakfast out to the front where they can enjoy the sunshine. It sounds like too much effort to me, but it does set them up for the day.
I’m not afraid of dying.
It will be sad for people, of course, but I don’t think I’ll mind the actual end when it comes. What I can’t bear is the thought that the last chapter, just before the book’s closed, might be horrible. I’d rather just close my eyes one day, feeling rested but healthy, and then wake up in Heaven. The thing is though, it seems that for some reason, most of us have to go through the twisting, tearing, humiliating pain of illness and sickness and disease, just to get there. I just can’t believe that God wants it that way.
Meanwhile, over the sunlit valley, my remarkable Dad is, apparently, doing very well with it all. I can see it. He’s refusing to let any of it depress or overwhelm him, and he’s living his best in difficult circumstances.
I walked back up through those leafy woods, letting the green light pool around me. A bird flicked through the trees, the wind ruffled the canopy above my head. Gnarled branches, ancient and modern twisted toward the patches of blue sky between the green. It’s all so peaceful.
Perhaps that’s what it means when God says he looks upon the heart. There’s something about the way you handle yourself through the last chapters of your life - peace, light, freedom in a secret place, even though out there, things look so difficult and must be frustrating. My Dad might have his attitude just about right then. Grace, peace, joy, freedom.
How is it, God, I wondered in the wood, that my heart could be so heavy and so light at the same time?
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