In one of those pre-dawn periods of clarity preceding wakefulness, thought provided the perfect language, which didn’t quite follow me when I wrote it down a half-hour later in the kitchen downstairs, as Dad and Lady (the border collie who knows more than we do) also began the day.
I have mentioned before to Tyler, Jet and the rest of the stage crew at Schuler Auditorium, Todd Ohse (live and studio sound engineer) at the Kroc Center, and others that we seem to be the FILO crews wherever we are. First In, Last Out…
That morning, I recalled one of the FILO stream survey days with Dan Kelliher, a USFS hydrologist, who treated the field season in northern southeast Alaska as training for the Boston Marathon. (From Boston, he’d finished 85th a few years before.) As a fishery biologist member of these resource inventory teams, it always seemed that Dan and I would be assigned together to work the river sections (or “reaches”) at the bottom of the steepest terrain. This day the helicopter landed us on a muskeg bench, and we spent forty minutes walking the edge to find a possible (passable?) route down. Descending between a coastal hemlock and the cliff face, I paused while walking a ledge to our next tree to look at the rock fault where the river poured out in a clear torrent, through which the other side of the canyon was quite visible.
That clarity reminds me of looking through the glass windows of old buildings. Glass is a liquid, so viscous that we rarely notice it flowing. Gravity pulls it downward, surface tension induces ripples, and it’s still transparent.
Like our relationships with many people, and with God, the transparency contains imperfections, though we’ll keep striving toward clarity. Thanks to everyone I meet, I feel that clarity is informed by God.
This clarity in relationship correlates with the pages for March 20-26 in My Utmost for His Highest by Oswald Chambers (edited by James Reimann). More co-incidences…
(That descent uses one hand and one foot on a tree with the hand and foot of the other side against the cliff. Coastal hemlock and Sitka spruce are generally too big to hug. Or climb, so forget that option to avoid brown bears. Situational Awareness… also included where and when our pickup would be, too.)