Obviously there's a large period of time during my seventy weeks in which I didn't write. In fact, I didn't even write around the end of my 70 days. The end of my 70 days was a little sad actually, it had been an eventful 70 days but the last couple weeks were uneventful and September 23 came and went without a bang. I blame this primarily on changes that happened at work once the new contract year began at the beginning of September. This meant people I was close with left and moved on, I took on a new role, and thus had a different schedule. I was thus a lot busier, more preoccupied at work while getting used to the changes, and my schedule has me working more nights which meant fewer trips to Chauncy Lake.
Chauncy Lake was where I'd been going in the afternoons a couple of days a week after work and just get lost in the woods. It's one of those places where meaning just seems to hang in the air, probably because it feels untamed. I'm unclear on who owns the lake and the land around it- there are private homes on one side, a beach owned by the town and woods that appear to be controlled by some authority (the state rec/conservation department, department of health for the water supply, party the town?) as there are signs about allowed hunting areas. Other parts appear to be under the control of the huge yet half abandoned state hospital that takes up a large portion of the grounds to the point where most of the time you're wandering in an area pinned in by the lake on one side and a hospital for the mentally ill on the other. Nonetheless, there are trails that appear to be somewhat intentionally created and some that are just worn paths, some of which lead into a cornfield with lots of paths frequented by cyclists and runners although they appear to be owned by some private farm. In the woods are random remnants of buildings- a hidden brick foundation that must have once been part of a building or at least a wall, a staircase in the middle of the forest that goes down into some kind of tunnel under what appears to have once been the foundation of some kind of building. I often wonder if there are secret tunnels to old torture chambers of the mental institution. But I fear I'm portraying it incorrectly- Chauncy Lake is an incredibly peaceful place, one where I would go to to walk and talk with God, where most of my revelations during the height of my 70 days had occurred.
During that time I had gotten to a place with God I'd never been before. I found myself loving Him more and more, understanding more of what it meant to love God, who God was. But the primary difference was the peace I had. You've heard of Christ's restless peace? Well, for me, it's especially restless. I'm especially philosophically questioning, always moving- feeling as though I need to be doing something in order to do God's will. I'm more of a Martha than a Mary and that's probably not the best thing. In fact, toward the end of August that story popped up everywhere- I kept hearing it, hearing people preach or speak on it- at church, in bible study, on the radio, even in conversations with friends. I think a lot of what God was doing during my 70 days was to show me the importance of just developing a relationship with Him. Typically, I felt God's presence in the middle of some tough time emotionally, when I reached some major point in my life, or usually when I wasn't on the path I should be and God was talking to me to tell me what to do. Usually I was already in a tough place and God's presence came with a sense of urgency- because I especially needed it then. And His presence usually involved some kind of demand- to change something, to do something, to be something. This was different, it was a quieter presence, one that just was and was loving and not necessarily at some crucial or tragic time when I needed comfort. God was just there, God was just with me, just because I wanted to know Him. I think that shows something important about God's character that we all need to be aware of: that He just wants to be with us, and will be with us, even in ordinary every day life, if only we ask.
However, while I had made progress as a Mary, just listening to and appreciating God, thoughts of the eternal are frequently distracted by thoughts of the temporal. My life changed a lot with work and my new work schedule- I just had more on my mind and less time where I could go spend quality time with God anywhere, let alone Chauncy Lake. Thus, while I had still been attempting to press into God throughout my 70 days, I was less focused on it and my peace, my sense of his presence had dwindled. I spent my 70th day distracted and somewhat mournful over the loss of that restful peace and more constant presence that was back to being the fleeting thing it had been.
I made an effort to continue pressing into God, to continue learning to love him past my 70 days, into the rest of my 70 weeks especially since I felt like I hadn't gotten as close to loving him properly as I wanted during that time. While I still recognize I'll never love Him enough, never love Him right, of course I want to love Him more, love Him better, and continually grow in that throughout my life. There were a number of interesting theological and spiritual thoughts and ideas that occurred between the last bit I wrote 7 weeks in (the last "memoirs of an August in love") and now but I can't express them completely now that time has passed. Regardless, I made an effort to devote more time to God and to continue to work on making Him a constant part of my thoughts and moment to moment decisions. Finally, I made it over to Chauncy Lake yesterday and realized it had been nearly two months since I spent quality time there. I had stopped by with my mother when she had come to visit but hadn't been able to really walk far or think. This time I went, I almost had to force myself. I thought about rushing to get home and shower in order to go out that evening. It probably didn't help that I don't just go there to walk, I go for a run and like any good person, I like to come up with reasons to avoid exercising. Kind of like repentance, it can be kind of painful at first and you may reluctant to go through with it, but afterward you always feel great- cleansed, renewed, and good.
I should also add that in the middle of this 7 week period of a lack of writing, fall had happened. I'm notorious for finding fall and winter aversive since the last 4 or so have been especially awful for me. I started to fall in love with autumn when I moved out to New England last autumn, but then another emotionally eventful fall/winter followed yet again. So when fall came this year, I dreaded it, afraid of what catastrophes could occur. But despite adjustments to change, I've fallen in love with autumn- there's just something about it in New England, it's just different. More importantly, I've been able to really appreciate the beauty of it and see a lot of philosophy behind it.
Very long story short, I finally made it to Chauncy Lake again and it was a bit of a shock (there's is where all the recapping ends and some meaningful reflections on life and more poetic prose begin).The last time I had been there was in the heat of summer, thick leafy green serenity and bright blue water, lily pads emerging, bullfrogs croaking, insects breeding in the shallow water in the steamy hot sunlight. And while I'd been watching happen all around me with great appreciation, it shocked me to get there and find everything so changed, like seeing a friend who is unexpectedly seriously ill- when they look so gaunt you almost don't recognize them. That's also the funny thing about death, it's different when you watch it slowly happen, but shocking when the last time you saw something it was very lively, time goes by, and next time you see it, it's very much in the process of dying or already dead. And I realized this is what had happened, I had come to visit an old friend who, last I saw, was lively and in the prime of its life and found it in the process of dying and yet, it's death was one of the most beautiful things I've ever seen.
What I could have thought to be (and once would have thought to be) a sad, haunting place where grey skeletons mingled with trees still clinging to their golden and red remnants I saw as a beautiful expression as the natural cycle of life. My path was littered with leaves- bright blood red ones- I was convinced I'd never known the color red until that moment. They contrasted with the charcoal grey, nearly black stones along the lake in a way that made my visual cortex do a double take at all the color. The drifted into the sleepy grey water like boats carrying the dead that are sent out to sea, sent out down a river. There were trees that seemed so alive with color, others newly passed and still more that had been dead for years- toppled trees whose roots were exposed, others broken at the middle, snapped at their core. I wondered what did it, did they rot from the inside out until they break, just where they appear strongest? How does a tall, full grown tree topple over completely? It must have not laid its roots deep enough, perhaps it began to grow where its roots could not sink down deep. One tree lay in the shallows of the lake, jutting straight out from the bank, it's dead, crumpled leaves clung to it, they're dusty rust color soft against the smoky water that lapped over its trunk. I was astonished at how beautiful its death appeared- it was not beautiful itself but it's state, its relationship with the lake, the way the lake moved onto it, around it, the way their colors blended struck me. I stood a while to stare. As I moved on, I saw more colorful foliage mixed with dead twisted stumps and trunks and realized I was in a world until itself. Untouched, untended by man. What was to die, died and remained right there, amongst life in it's prime. What was to be born was born, tiny young trees pushed their way in between large ones- life and death coexisted in brilliant color and brilliant subtlety.
I thought about the brilliant colors and how, while this looked like life at it's peak, it was in fact, a short prelude to death. This was when the environment got so cold it stripped away all the green, lively parts of the leaf, all the chlorophyll, until only the subtle colors, the caretenoids, usually outweighed by the chlorophyll shine through. And I thought that this was the way to live and the way to die: to blossom in your youth, pure, clean, and bright. To shade and shelter in your prime, serene, strong, and broad. To show all your color in your old age, that when everything you have is stripped away, your most beautiful colors shine through. Then, when the time comes, you just silently fall, twirling through the air, leaving bright remnants of your life on the ground. Now, that's the way to go.
I continued walking, trying to reconnect with God, to feel His presence as I had in my August visits to the lake. I prayed, I asked for His presence, for no other reason than my great want to just be with Him. As I wandered, two thin tall bright yellow trees caught my eye. They reached high into the sky and caught the dying afternoon light so that their leaves appeared purely gold. The way they reflected the sun was something to behold, enough to stop me dead in my tracks. I stood there in wonder, like a small child, my eyes wide just looking up at the light at how beautiful it was. Then I saw one of the leaves fly loose and it twirled like a whirly-gig down from the tall tree, like a piece of goodness, a sliver of light God had let slip down to earth, I reached my hand out in vain to catch it, not expecting to hold it, not stretching myself or making any effort to attain it. It seemed so unlikely that I would catch it, it could have landed anywhere, the tree was so high, not even directly above me, the leaf could have landed anywhere within a 20 foot radius of me. Instead, it fluttered down without any effort directly into the palm of my hand. I stood there in awe, a tear came to my eyes. If I were a bystander I would have thought I was crazy- here was this twenty something girl standing beneath a tree, looking up at it like a newborn who had never seen a tree before, marveling at the fact that she caught a leaf in her hand. But I still maintain that I had asked God for His presence, I saw his light reflecting stunningly in the world around me, and at that very moment he sent a sliver of it, right down to me. Like Grace, I didn't ask for it (or even know I needed to) I didn't need to do anything to gain it except open my hand to receive it. I held onto the leaf tightly like a tiny treasure, brought it home and put it on my bookshelf with my shells, stones, and sea-glass. Of course, it seemed darker with orange tinges down here on earth. Even when I passed the entire tree a little while later on my walk back, I almost did not recognize the tree. The sun had gone down further in the mean time and the leaves no longer reflected in the light. It was now another unremarkable tree with yellow leaves, yet another sign that what I loved was not the tree, but the light. As C.S. Lewis said, "ah, you're forgetting, light itself was your first love, you loved __________, as only a means of telling about the light"
I continued back to my car, holding my treasure, spending time with God. At one point, with the dying light shining behind me I caught my shadow before me on the ground, laying there amidst the acorns and dirt that seemed so familiar, my mind suddenly flashed with images of the field I would bike to when I was young near my grandmother's house, fallen leaves and acorns in our yard, the sign at the church I would ride past just to catch a phrase about who God was, I looked back at my silhouette and God simply said, for no apparently urgent reason, "I know you." And he was right, he did, he does. Sometimes I think of how far I've come spiritually and think of my past self as someone who did not know God, but then I recall moments of me grasping for shreds of Him desperately, even as a young kid on a bike. Not only did God know me, he had made himself known to me early on- we had spent so many quality years together. But, don't get me wrong this revelation (that I had of course known before, but had never had said to me by God) still hit me like a ton of bricks. It's a startlingly simultaneous feeling of comfort and terror at the same time when the God of the universe tells you he knows you. He knows everywhere I've been, who I am, but he also knows everything I've done, every terrible thing I've ever thought or desired, but yet, still chooses to know and love me anyway.
Today in church we sang what used to be the end of the doxology at my home church growing up. It was always my favorite part of the service when I was little and struggling to feel any presence of existence of a God. I would stand there, look at the large cross on the wall and sing "Glory be to the father and to the son and to the holy ghost, as it was in the beginning is now and ever shall be, world without end, ah-ah men, ah-ah, men." for a long while, we stopped singing it at my home church. Then I moved out here, started at a new church and while we sang another, similar song for the doxology, we had never sung the part that I had so loved until today. When I saw the words on the screen I thought of who I was, who I'd been, and who I was to be: all the seasons he'd seen me through, all the places he'd allowed me to see him, all the golden gifts of light he'd given me- and I sang the words with a sense of wonder because, wow, God just knows me.
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