Maine.

Reflection #1: On letting Nature Reform Us.

Cooksey Drive Overlook Preserve

If you are going to watch a meteor shower, it’s not a bad idea to observe it in a solitary spot overlooking Taunton Bay in Sullivan, ME. A glass of blueberry-infused wine, your best friend, no humidity, sweatshirts…and a good pair of steady binoculars.

Like small blue flakes drifting slowly across the atmosphere, one after another after another, crisscrossing by each other across the dark expanse. Help me, please. Add a few shooting stars into the mix of magic, and you are officially wonder-full.

Pure delight.

Something actually happens; something internally shifts. Crusty places soften, hard places crack wide open. Cynicism dissipates. My brain clams. Scott and I kept trying to locate words to describe what we were a witness to, but forget it.

This experience juxtaposed with the ever-swirling news churn, hours spent head-down, eyes sucked into other black holes, Facebook or Instagram, email or YouTube…a stark and revelatory opposition.

Look no further than your body. Notice those shoulders aren’t as tight. Your neck isn’t cramped. We actually hear the questions being asked of us instead of the ongoing, “What did you say,” as we pull our glassy gaze from the screen. Or noticing the sounds above us in the trees, is it a song sparrow? A mockingbird? We become grounded and attuned. And best of all, thoughts drift higher and wider, set free from the worms of worry and the electric buzz of information overload.

The goodness of Creation will faithfully do the work of renewal; the True Self will emerge if we give it space and time. And Lord knows, the impulsive, reactive, power-hungry, narcissism we feel everywhere needs to step off the stage for a few years forever.

This view delivered, day and night.

A trip like this is a big deal for Scott and me. We guardrail ourselves with a strict budget. We make sacrifices in other areas of life to book charming places because we hope the effect on us will be long-term. It’s become clear to us that trips are more than just a vacation; they have the potential to provide a gateway for connection with ourselves and each other. The beauty of Maine (and, frankly, so many places right down the road from our home in Downingtown, PA!) pulls us in the direction of God and his abundance. And that’s the direction we want to go; that’s where raw gratitude makes its way up and out. That’s what changes us.

Not more theology books, but more experiences in the goodness of God’s Creation. A few friends who live with this same attentiveness; thank the good Lord for that.

The reality is, if asked the questions, “What do you need right now?” or, “When did you stop living and instead, started coasting?”, most of us wouldn’t be able to harness our thoughts long enough to give an authentic answer. I know most days, I can’t. So we wake up out of touch and go to bed out of touch. We forget who we are and what we value. Our friendships become stale and flat. Our energy is depleted, and our creativity to live outside of our defaults goes silent. So we drift, ever so slightly. And one day we wake up asking ourselves, “How the hell did I get here? When did I stop caring about living…thriving?”

So, for us, Maine was one big, gigantic prayer.

Steven Chase, author of A Field Guide to Nature as a Spiritual Practice (thank you Tessa!), writes about Attention as Contemplative Prayer,

“We have learned that God is simultaneously transcendent (beyond all things) and immanent (known through all things). [Attention as contemplative prayer] focuses on the immanent nature of the divine, [by] assimilating the phrase, ‘God resides in places’ on an experiential level and to allow the experiences to become prayer” (14).

Sounds deep, but it’s rather simple—When we slow down and pay attention, God delivers himself to us through his creation. So, phones away, go outside and connect with him. No words necessary.

My favorite, Eugene Peterson, described prayer as following the breadcrumbs to God…

And there, receiving him in all his goodness.

Natural beauty fills up our hollow spaces. It parachutes in like a hero and grabs us from the doom of a robotic existence. These cliffs and crashing waves reminded me of my humanness. They invited me to breathe and breathe deeply. Body and soul expand, letting anxiety find its way out to shore, where it will break up and disappear.

I am a better counselor, a more present wife, a sensitive listener, a thoughtful friend, and a less fearful human when I immerse myself in the natural world where birds dance and water sings. The effect of decompression isn’t selfishness and pointless navel-gazing; it is transformative. Everyone benefits.

The drama of Maine is not my everyday life, like it is for Nicole and Matt, who are the innkeepers at Acadia Bay Inn. But thanks to those with forethought and vision, I have lots of beauty right here in Chester County. The Brandywine and Delaware Rivers, thousands of preserved acres, Longwood Gardens, Valley Forge National Park, and the ocean, only two hours north…

Sadly, many who have access don’t choose it. And sometimes, it requires valiant effort to find natural spaces of beauty. When I lived in a town webbed together by shopping centers, apartment complexes, and housing developments on every open lot, I learned to get in my car and scour for beauty. I drove until I found secret spots, tufts of trees behind churches no one noticed, towns on the outskirts, trails a little drive away where there may be a chance I wouldn’t have to share it with droves of other humans, and a small botanical garden an hour away. The sky was accessible in my yard, and trees stood with their tall, leafy-glory right outside my window…

Hunger drove me. Let it in, you can’t go very long without it.

And once I started paying attention to the birds…well, birds are everywhere.