God is our rock!
What a big, bold and beautiful symbol that is. We've heard it repeatedly over the years. Jesus referenced it with his house-on-the-rock comparison and it's certainly something for us to hold on to when things get shaky. Yes God is a rock.
But our lives are rocky.
He built the cosmos, so large and complex that even our math equations can't translate it from mere ideas to what we can perhaps begin to fathom. God is big, and his ways, even bigger. But the seemingly endless void of space and our earthly world can be violent. As we've recently seen, concrete isn't a sure thing in a hurricane. At times like this the comfort of rock-solid hope can break down.
God certainly does save us from harm. But there are times when he doesn't, right? And in that suffering, the drama of our collective humanity plays out. Our biggest fears are exposed, and the suffering will test us. We are forced to choose between hope and despair. Then what we hope for now shifts to whom.
His promise is to always show up.
A few weeks ago Colby and I were in Zion National Park, a place with the most beautiful pastel sandstone cliffs and slot canyons in the world. We were descending into a steep and deep canyon, then hiking up many miles through a stream to an iconic spot - The Subway. Unfortunately we miscalculated the distance and effort needed, and ended up hiking the last two miles back downstream in the dark - exhausted, out of water and with only one working headlamp.
It was one of the hardest days I can remember.
The darkness had now removed all our precious landmarks on the canyon rim above, and we were not sure exactly where the trail was, up and out of our canyon. I was worried and needed to calm down, so we sat down by the stream. I told her there was a chance we would have to spend the night down here, and wait for help in the morning. Her pretty face held a quiet resolve and she wasn't ready to give up. But we needed help.
Side note: Colby has collected big and small heart-shaped rocks for years. Earlier in the day I found a large one, about the size of a basketball. I took a picture of it and we moved on. Now after our rest stop, as we were sloshing across the creek to the other side, hoping to catch our trail out of the canyon, she suddenly squealed.
About the Author
Terry is a man in constant motion to explore new horizons. He has a thirst for new places and faces, and a deep love for the natural world - with a weakness for waterfalls and sunsets. All of this venturing out helps to both ground and inspire him, because it opens him up to people, with their vast, collective array of experiences, outlooks and responses.
He finds all of this fascinating and sees that it has encouraged the growth of something crucial in his Christian development: empathy and compassion toward his brothers and sisters on this planet.