Waiting for the Bus, Looking Out Over the Fog

On mountains, valleys and settling in for the night

Did you know when you predominantly walk everywhere your shoes track in significantly more mud than when walking to and from a car? You (the royal you, as in you general people, not maybe you specifically…) also tend to actually zip up your coat when you’re outside now. We are surviving by means of leggings under jeans, or strategic layers of thermals and maxi-length puffer coats. Cotton denim pants simply do not cut it here, even indoors on occasion.

What I am trying to say is it is so cold, and having to be outside more often forces one to reckon with God (and creation). This is what I found myself thinking about, all things “weather-proofing”, while mourning the absence of my gloves left in my other jacket as I waited for the bus. I think about it also as I walk back up the slope into the wind rather than having it at my back. The mist freezes here, the bare branches of trees ice over, and being located so deep in the valley, we get thick fog that covers the streets in an eerily but fantastical way. How can one not become reminiscent of the Misty Mountains or similar journeys into hillside and vast countrysides? The imagination is freed to consider distances and dangers, and to ponder who (or what) lives in the woods.

We were able to drive up into the mountains and the view is vastly different; the altitude helps to see past, and even above, the clouded fields. Perspective has a way of shifting reality, doesn’t it? This week’s Bible readings brought up all sorts of imagery of descending/ascending mountains as I read through the center of Exodus (19-24) and Hebrews 12, which references Moses' climb of Mount Sinai to meet with God. *To commune with God is the better word here, “to feel in close spiritual contact with”, or to “receive Holy Communion”.

The stories that inspire me the most often involve travel to and from, or up and down, mountains. There is an ‘other-worldliness’ to high up places, similar to the murky depths of ocean and underground earth. The tiered nature of mountains, as in Dante’s Inferno or C.S Lewis’ the Great Divorce, tangibly reflects the progress of the character(s). Even the story structure, rising action into climax, is taught by use of a mountain-shaped chart.

I find the imagery helpful and even encouraging at times to reflect on the journey at hand, not so much as its destination. Who am I becoming from these experiences? Will it be mainly good or evil I encounter along the way? Am I still in exposition, or closer to the falling action?

For now, we are taking up residence in the valley. This is the reality of our days. There is a great river nearby, and the hiking hills are not too far off either, but it is here in this lowly place we are making a home- another waiting place. I attempted to hang up curtains and have measured out space for rugs; we make tea and heat up potatoes, in true hobbit fashion.

I am hesitant to unpack and set up camp.

I do remember feeling this way before, so there is at least some reassurance in my consistency to be apprehensive. It has also pushed me into a most fervent prayer life, these waves of life with all its to’s and fro’s. **Ephesians 4-5:21 has good words about this very sentiment, including the parallels of walking and mountains.

The more I learn, the less I feel I know. But, the Lord is good and diligent in His giving. There have been moments, even this week, to give out directions to other weary travelers. We have been in people’s homes already, and had people in ours (with its loaner couch and 3 coffee mugs, no household goods yet). I imagine a hearth here amongst the cold, dark in-between place, a kind of highway rest stop on a long, rainy road trip. It is a beacon. It is a steady and restful place where we can eat, seek light and warmth, and recollect what we have seen, heard and experienced to one another. Tish Harrison Warren, in Liturgy of the Ordinary, talks about heaven in a similarly imaginative way, that she hopes at the grand feasting table she’ll be seated by her friend eating butter. I hope so too for just as walking is good for the mind, butter is good for the soul.

Until next time,

Em