The Cabin

In the Mountains.

“Front side of the cabin”

“Back side” of the cabin, where the trail leads down to the middle fork of the St Vrain.  This is where you can usually find me.  {NOTE:  my poor little cheap Kodak could not, try as it might, capture the water.  It always just whited-out, but that is water down there.  It’s OK, though, it did pretty well on colors and textures.}

Rushing waters.

Dappled sunlight.  Warm, hot even.  Yet a cooling breeze blows over.  Fresh.  Exhilarating mountain stream baths.  Blue-jays cackle loudly on their way by.  Hummingbirds swooping and frolicking, feeding frequently and zooming in so close I am afraid they will scratch my glasses lens.

The chipmunks try to hide in the shadiness of low brush, but betray themselves by their own relentless chatter.

The path down to the water on the left.  The path up the driveway on the right.

The blue of the sky :: what blue is that?  From where does it get that depth and clarity?  Bluuuuuuuuuue….saturated with intoxicating substance.  Mmm.

How many different greens am I seeing?  How many different textures?

Moss, earthy and sweet.  Moss is safe here.  Is that why I am drawn?  Did my very name at birth identify a part of my souls’ homeland that draws me, still?

Large boulders stand settled, immovable for the truth they represent.  The waters flow freely around these altars, splash against these planted “tables.”

“You prepare a table before me”

The Aspens quake like the religious sect of old, the trees clapping their hands and roaring their applause to great God.  When the breath of the Lord blows through, the forest-stadium is filled with home-team-victory ear-piercing, loud, standing ovation excitement.  I cannot quit watching the leaves – trying to capture them by digital recording – knowing it is all for Creator.  They’ve never learned to dissipate their purpose in delighting Him by doing what anyone else thinks they should do.  It is all song and dance to Him, for His good pleasure.

He and I keep laughing at these tiny, energetic hummingbirds.  They are just so happy and busy, so full of life.

Laughing with God in the mountains at Peaceful Valley is so good.  He is giving me a clue about what makes him happy, what brings His smile.  I feel like He is letting me in a secret.  I am giddy to find that the birds of the mountains crack God up.

This is the Rocky Mountain {most} High.

Omygosh, I am weird, but wow I love it, too.  My Father is putting on a show for me, or maybe, more accurately, He is letting me see the one being put on for Him.  He claps.  He laughs.  He sings along.  He sees that His creation is good.  Here I am, lucky enough to sit in the Divine box seat with Him.

I am struck by how all of creation just does what it does and is in constant worship by very nature, created to bring Him glory.  I wonder what the heck we are doing?

I can’t help singing Andrae Crouch’s old song~

If I was a tree all I could do is lift my arms to You, Lord

If I was a bird, all I could is sing a song to You

If I was the sun all I could do is shine for You

Everything You made I know You made to give to praise to You

But You created me in Your image to give You the highest praise

Yeah, that’s right.  I sang my head off.  I was created to.  I couldn’t help it.  The waters splashed and pushed by loudly headed toward destiny.  The birds did sing.  The trees did clap their hands, the sun shined brilliantly and I sang and laughed and cried.  My soul sang.  It sang.  I was born for it.

Peaceful Valley was…peaceful, in its’ own raucously full-of-living kind of way.  Good times.

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