Monthly Musings: What I got up to in May and June

Hello! Yes, I’m back. I didn’t fall off the face of the planet, but I did spend some time exploring another part of this gorgeous globe we call home.

Since I last posted I’ve had the privilege of visiting some breathtaking places in Canada and Alaska. This post is all about the visual. Let me give you a little taste of these amazing places.

Click on a photo to see the full size gallery. Take your time and drink it in.

Butchart Gardens, Victoria, Vancouver Island

Butchart Gardens (hard to believe this was once a quarry)

the spectacular Shannon Falls

Whistler – view from the top

our hotel in Banff – the main street

Banff – the view from Sulphur Mountain

Rocky Mountains

Rocky Mountains (birds-eye view)

Lake Louise

The Fairmont Hotel Lake Louise

along the Icefields Parkway

Athabasca Glacier, Icefields Parkway

Athabasca Glacier (yes we drove onto the glacier)

Dyea, Alaska (you’d never know there was once a town here)

Margaret Glacier, Glacier Bay, Alaska

Margaret Glacier (see that canoe? Or is it a kayak?)

Margaret Glacier (getting some perspective?)

Margaret Glacier (a wider angle – can you still see the canoe?)

 

 

31 Days: A prayer for listening

As you listen, may you know God’s presence with you. May you hear his still small voice whispering in your heart. May his voice become familiar as a loved one.

May you discover the joy of his presence and may his words bring comfort and healing to the places that are wounded and broken.

May he reveal himself to you in ways you don’t expect. May you discover the beauty of his character, and the depth of his love for you.

And as you listen, may your soul and spirit rise in love and praise for Him, who is worthy of it all.

This is my prayer for you.

This is Day 14 of the series 31 Days to Listen.

31 Days: Listening to nature

The first thing I notice is the sound of frogs, loud and persistent. Their joyful chorus resounds around the edge of the lake. The birds add their voices in harmony. Sunlight filters through the eucalyptus trees, paths wind through magnolias, rhododendrons and camellias.

I follow a fairy wren along a path up the hillside, slowly, among tall gum trees and flowering carpets of ground covers, hellebores and bluebells. I don’t want to miss the gifts along the way.

I soak in the beauty. Listen and rest.

I can still hear the frog-song up on the hill out of sight of the lake. I listen to the birds calling one another from the tree tops. A family of twelve – mum, dad and ten tiny ducklings – meander their way down towards the lake.

Everywhere there is new life.

The winter is gone, spring has come. And I am blessed.

This is Day 6 of the series 31 Days to Listen. For more information about this challenge, and to see others are writing, visit Write 31 Days.

Finding early morning soul space

I sit on the bench. In the quiet I watch the sun rise and listen to the birds singing and calling to one another. There are few people around at that hour, but the wetlands are prolific with all kinds of bird life.

What a glorious morning, and I have nowhere else to be, no need to rush. I want to sit and soak it all in, to breathe and be present in this moment.

But there is also a little voice urging me to get up, get moving, and do something more productive.

I’m restless.

It’s not easy to stop, to be still, to be present, to listen.

I know this is an invitation to be with the Lord, to sit with him, watch with him. Not worrying about a prayer list, not worrying about whether he will speak to me. But just to be. To open my eyes, my ears and my heart to the beauty around me, allow it to inspire wonder and worship.

But it’s still a struggle to stay on that bench, not to get up and walk away.

A week later and I am back at the wetlands, sitting on the same bench. Another early morning. The fairy wrens are playing chasy, looping in circles, skimming low over the ground, alighting on reed stems before hopping from one to the next. Light glitters on the rippling water. The sun is a glowing orb rising from behind the hill.

Glorious.

And this time – this time is different. This time I’m not restless. This time, my soul is still, and I am grateful for the beauty of this morning, for this gift of whitespace, this gift of companionship, for this moment of intimacy.

In this moment I am content, grateful for this life.

I have stilled and quieted my soul. And I breathe life again.

But I have calmed and quieted myself, I am like a weaned child with its mother; like a weaned child I am content. ~ Psalm 131:2

The rainbow invitation to rest

It wasn’t news I wanted to hear. But there wasn’t anything I could do to change it.

I walked back to my desk. Overwhelmed. The waters rising, threatening to close in over my head. Sinking.

Too much. Too much.

Struggling, trying to float instead of sink. Except that struggling usually sends you downward. Floating requires trust that the water will hold you up.

I didn’t see it at first. Someone else drew it to my attention.

A rainbow – bright and glorious against a charcoal sky. It hung in the air outside my window.

Suddenly the waters receded, the darkness lifted and hope took its rightful place.

I love rainbows.

I love the colours; love their glorious beauty; love their elusiveness and the unexpected joy they bring.

I love that they remind me of God’s presence.

They speak to me of his faithfulness. They remind me that God is someone I can trust. Even in the storms of life.

Especially in the storms.

I’ve seen several rainbows in the last few days. A profusion of rainbow gifts, reminding me again of the Lord’s faithfulness as I choose to trust him and rest.

Return to your rest, my soul, for the LORD has been good to you. ~ Psalm 116:7