In The Wind



There are definitely some days when you buckle up, put the pedal to the metal and you pass life by. At the speed of light.

It is on those days (weeks… years?) when you realize that you can’t slow down but at the same time you realize that you are missing some things that make life… life. That make life… sane.

They say when you move into a house you really don’t take possession of it for at least two years. Some things remain in boxes, furniture is moved a million times and you are still not completely happy with where it fits in a room. But oh how you long for that moment when everything is where it should be.

But then the day comes when you slow down. And if life is really good to you, you stop and take a deep breath and instead of looking around at where you are going or what you should be doing, you just take a 360 into every bit of your senses.

It’s that time when things start to make sense. When all the veils are blown back and purpose is revealed. Purpose. Covered up with the rigors of life. Passed by as your freight train speeds so fast that the things you pass are just a blur.

I’ve been in Wyoming now for going on three years. I look back on early struggles and challenges and obstacles that I have been able to remove. Walls that I have beaten my head against without gaining anything but a bloody forehead.

I know that I have said it before and say it again now. I’ve never felt more at home in any other place I’ve ever lived. But have I taken time to live here and appreciate it more?

Thoughts for another windy column. But this weekend was one of those times when I “had a moment.” An epiphany if you will. I was driving west on highway 26 exhausted from a very busy day that was ending quickly with the sun dropping like a wrecking ball behind the mountains.

I don’t know what she hit on the other side, but suddenly there was an explosion of color all over the sky as if someone had dropped a paint bucket and it splattered everywhere. The glow lit up the clouds and the colors were as if someone had taken a paint brush and began to change the color of the Wyoming dusky horizon.

I knew I had to hurry home to finish up some things, but something told me just to stop and snap some pictures of the majesty that suddenly appeared out of the quickly moving darkness announcing the day’s end. It was like God Himself was telling me that this was the grand finale.

And it was. Grand. The sky took my breath away and I don’t know if that has ever happened before. I was all alone, and suddenly that feeling of being alone didn’t scare me anymore. The only thing I can relate it to is driving home through a fierce storm, seeing your driveway after white-knuckling the steering wheel for hours and stepping in through the front door of your house, finally safe and sound. And. Breathe. Dropping your shoulders and surrendering to the gratefulness.

As I stood there in the dusk surrounded by the canvas that was being created as I stood and watched, I got that feeling. Like stepping in through my front door. Knowing I was not alone. Knowing this was what has been prepared for me all of my life.

And after some introspection sitting on the grass being covered with a blanket of stars, I knew that I needed nothing. I yearned for nothing. The Apostle Paul said, “wanting nothing.” Except. To just stay a little longer to watch the show. To listen to the night birds and tree frogs with melody and harmony and then realizing that the wind through the trees was the best percussionist I’d ever heard…. banging branches and swishing leaves and realizing that I’d never heard a symphony such as this.

Perhaps the overture was called, “at peace with myself.” That moment when you know things are going to work out. When you realize you are right where you need to be. And the timing for your last chapters couldn’t be more perfect.

As I left that spot, the air was different. I had changed my emotional posture. Scars on my soul were healing. I headed for those gorgeous lights of Wheatland in the distance that I have loved so much on long, never-ending days. Going home.

To come in and realize that the scent of that Wyoming beef in the slow cooker had filled my apartment with memories. Thoughts of suppertime and my dad calling from the back door that it was time to eat. As I leave you this week, I encourage you to slow down. Establish your true north. And find your way home.

Perhaps I am coming to the point of possessing my own soul. Realizing that all I have is all I need. And watching the artist paint me pictures was perhaps all He wanted for me in the first place. Purpose. Everything else will fall into place.