This journal entry is dated October 11, 2013. We had a down pour most of the morning in the San Juan valley of Hinsdale county, Colorado. About 11 a.m. specks of snow turned into big flakes, coming with blizzard force. It stopped. Snowed. Stopped. Snowed.
When we woke the next morning the ground was covered, the scene was majestic. At 8:30 a.m. I layered for warmth and headed down the mountain, avoiding the carved roads and paths. Stepping from a grove of aspen and pine into the open. I paused to view the sparkles on every grass blade. Spread before me, the vast valley glistened with jewels. And with my every step I crushed the gems.
I walked in this wonderland that contrasted the shadow of inner turmoil. Later I asked questions of myself that I also want to ask you.
Have you ever wondered why you are in the place you’re in? Or why you must endure the terrible circumstances? Or when the brick wall will crumble?
At 73 years of age I find myself asking, “Just what, Lord God Almighty, is it you want me to do? To see? Why am I volunteering at this particular camp?”
Mostly the answer comes from three sources: scriptures, devotionals, and friends. The co-workers tell Ron and I, “You are the stabilizing force here.” Perhaps seniority has benefits after all. From scripture and devotionals, I’m instructed to rest in God. To experience the presence of Christ. To let God drop His thoughts and words into my pool of stillness.
More questions burst into my brain. When do I remain quiet? When should I speak up? And horror of horrors — when do I confront?
Sigh. The complicated circumstances continue and I don’t want to out run the Lord. Be calm. Wait on the Lord. I remembered the crunch of snow-gems and thought how beautiful I could feel — glisten inside — if I just hesitate long enough for God to reveal Himself.
On the lighter side, October 14, a Monday, here is how my day played out.
6:30 a.m. Helped in the kitchen
10 a.m. Drove eight miles to teach four boys how to machine zig-zag stitch felt stuffed toys — bunnies and shark (2 hours)
12:45 p.m. Back at the bunkhouse, my 14-year-old student completed two more rows of single crochet on her brother’s hat (1 hour)
2 p.m. Sisters, 8 and 9 giggled through stitching bunnies and purse handles (1.25 hours)
3:35 p.m. A 12-year old girl worked on a over-sized fleece pillow and an 11 year old who cut out and stitched the yoke on a doll dress. “Do we have to leave? Can’t we finish….?” (2.25 hours)
6:15 p.m. Each child’s joy at their accomplishment washed away my fatigue — more enough pay for an investment of 6.5 hours teaching.