New Heights and Fresh Ground
I climbed a lighthouse this past week while on vacation. It was a highlight (get it?) of my trip to the beach!
The view was breathtaking. I could see so much ocean, its waves breaking against the sandy beach. The sky was a beautiful blue streaked with wisps of white cumulus, cirrus, and stratus. The air was light and salty. I could see from one side of the island to the other. I could even see my family’s (rental) house from there!
I gripped the steel railing at the top of the lighthouse almost the entire time. Heights are a little scary to me, even if the views are spectacular. As much as I like that gravity keeps me attached to this planet, this basic force of physics is unforgiving at such a height. Ironically, I was most afraid of accidentally dropping my phone over the edge (I was taking a lot of pictures). It’s like you’ve probably heard it said: “I’m not afraid of heights; I’m afraid of falling from them.”
I’ve climbed or looked out from a lot of tall things: lighthouses, high-rise hotels, the Seattle Space Needle, the Grand Canyon. I’ve done a lot more of that in videogames, where the danger isn’t real (it’s so fun to crouch at the top of the Empire State building as Spider-Man in the PlayStation games). Seeing a wide view of the world from above gives fascinating and fresh new perspectives. This was a “high point” of the week.
I spent as much time as I could at the top of the lighthouse. I was soaking up every moment, trying to take just as many mental pictures as digital ones, because I knew the experience would shortly come to an end. I’d eventually return to the ground, descending a series of ship’s ladders (the Oak Island lighthouse is apparently the only one in the US that doesn’t use stairs).
But I enjoyed the feeling of being high up, seeing everything around me. I appreciated how rare such an opportunity is, since life is lived in the valley, not on the mountaintop. The human spirit craves both novelty and fulfillment, but the two don’t always fit together.
I thoroughly enjoyed the rest of my time at the beach. The ocean was a perfect temperature to swim in, even in early October. The sand felt warm and soft under my feet. I collected seashells, sea rocks, and even some sea glass. I watched sunrises and sunsets, read books, ate good food, and spent time with family.
Friday quickly arrived, and I left to attend a church men’s retreat/revival, where I enjoyed some outdoor activities, witnessed some holy moments of preaching and testimony, and saw some men commit or recommit their lives to Jesus Christ. This too was a high point, as I saw the Holy Spirit move and work. I spent lots of time in prayer during this whole week, too.
During the entire week, an awareness that these moments wouldn’t last crept around at the back of my mind. Monday and the return of everyday life and work (the return to the “valley”) were approaching quickly. In past years, this awareness has almost ruined vacations because I dreaded the future rather than living in the moment.
This time, I ignored that feeling enough to enjoy each moment as long as I could, and I accepted the fact that “normal life” would resume soon. A certain serenity appeared in those moments, along with a recognition that normality isn’t so bad.
Even if it can be better.
Part of the point of this break was to re-evaluate certain parts of my lifestyle and give God some time to work on my soul without the normal distractions around. He did some good work.
He reminded me that I don’t have to live or move so fast.
He reminded me that I don’t have to be afraid of choices that lead to increased peace, decreased people-pleasing, and a better outlook on the increasingly heavy world around me.
And he reminded me that I have fresh ground ahead of me to plant myself into (like the book I’m now working on writing).
Vacation may be over, but I will continue to rest in Him, no matter what fears or lies try to conquer me. I’ll probably have to fight for that rest, considering the craziness of the world. But it’s worth it if it means retaining my spiritual sanity and learning how to shine into the darkness like a lighthouse rather than letting the darkness quench my fire.