Often when the issues of life are crowding in on us, we seek a quiet place to withdraw, gather our thoughts and composure, and find the strength to keep going. Once such place for me is on the back of a horse, quietly padding through the deep snow in the woods. Our gravel road is fairly quiet during the daytime, but at night, car travel is almost nonexistent. So, when heading off for a time of solice, there isn't that much for background noise from passing vehicles out on the road.
The quietness of the woods draws me there often to meditate and pray. I think my gelding now knows when I'm going to stop and rest, reflecting on the day's and week's events. He quite easily slips into the three-legged "resting mode" of a horse. He drops his head and takes a break also, for when the snow is deep, it is quite a bit of work carrying me around. Last night was one such night when the woods were just beautiful. The snow easily illuminates the landscape, making it easy to make your way among the trees. After stopping for a moment, the snow quietly began to descend, each snowflake whispering a promise of coming moisture that it will provide in the spring. It is so much easier to just let your worries and your cares descend to the ground, falling as the snowflakes do. Finding the presence of God in this place is not hard to do. Look up to the tree branches and see how each great oak, maple and birch all raise their branches in prayer. They quietly await the promise of spring, holding their buds for new leaves until just the right time to break open and green up the woods once again. If they can follow the cycles of life and wait paitently for the spring rains, why can't I present my circumstances to God, lay them there, and wait patiently for his answers?
I hear a shuffle behind us, and for a moment my train of thought is broken. It's only the dog catching up to us, snowplowing through the woods on his own trail, following enticing scents that tells him that we're not the only ones who venture through this quiet place. It's probably time to go. Head back to the house. And as we round the top of the ridge, we can see the back porch light sparking a glow through the narrow tree trunks that tell me that we're reaching the birch grove before the end of the woods.
Unsaddling the gelding in the barn, I give him a brush-down with a little bit extra elbow grease, letting him know that I'm proud of him and enjoy his patience with me, seeming to understand that this time alone, this time to reflect and meditate is so important to me, and that I'm honored that I can trust him to accompany me. A handful of grain and a pat on the rump. Now it's time to bring the others in and let them all enjoy a bit of grain and hay. I hear them all munching contentedly on their grain and I shut the lights off to the barn - how peaceful and content they sound . . .
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