As I went down to the river

Every now and again, I go down to the river.  Literally.  I get in my car and drive for a couple of miles out to where the old country road T’s and, after a short hop over the railroad tracks, I could dip my toes in the not-so-mighty Susquehanna.

I take this pilgrimage every few months or so…more in the milder months…less in the colder, icier ones.  It is good for my soul. 

Ironically, I discovered this soul-soothing pathway while test driving my turbo-engined Saab 900 at 80 mph.  (I needed a country road for this.  I was young and the guy selling me the car thought it was a great idea.  I don’t do this kind of thing any more.)

It’s been a little while since I ventured down that way last, and I went today on a whim.  It was a gorgeous day.  The kind where Heaven seems to touch Earth and all is well. 

In my soul, this was not the case.  I needed the solace, the rest that comes from meandering down a little winding, hilly, bumpy, narrow, field-lined road.  (And—this is very important—manure has not been spread on the fields nearby recently.)

I live in the suburbs but within a stone’s throw of farmland.  Except for one, terrible five-year stint, this has always been the case for me.  And I love it! 

(My people are farmers.  Well, some of them, at least.  In the last couple of generations.  Not so much in mine.  It is a miracle that my brother and I weren’t raised on a farm, as my dad thought that mucking barns was a great way to instill responsibility…the same way he learned it.) 

I plugged in one of my favorite CDs.  Margaret Becker’s Immigrant’s Daughter from 1989.  Bliss.  Pure bliss for this girl-raised-in-the-eighties. 

I can’t remember anytime I’ve taken this drive and listened to something besides Christian/gospel music.  The jaunt is part of a spiritual journey, and somehow Bon Jovi or Michael Bublé or Skynyrd just don’t seem to set the right tone.  (Call me crazy.)

Here’s what I saw as I drove.  (Pardon the photos—I had only my cell phone with me.)  At times I stood on farm lanes, where corn grew on one side of the road and on the other stood a wheat field.  

At one point, I turned onto another little road and found this old church settled among pre-Civil War era homes.

It’s still in use, 

but the cemetery dates back to at least the early 1800s.   

God’s not afraid of your honesty.  He can heal your heart if you speak honestly.  

Humble sorrow and an honest cry—He will not pass by. *

These crosses stand behind a white municipal building-cum-church in the middle of corn fields

Just come in, lay your heart right here.  You should never fear. 

Look at the sky—the east to the west.  I will forgive you no matter what you’ve done.**

Written on the sky, I see Your reply.  You say, ‘I stand with the meek.’ ***

(Used sepia tone effect here because this hillside reminded me of Tuscany!)

 So I wail for wisdom, and I cry for a cure.  

I need less of me, and I need You more and more.  ***

This is what I do to get away for a short time when my soul needs refreshment.  This is my 30-minute rejuvenator, reminder, resetter.

Where do you find retreat?

One of my girlfriends heads out on a solo hiking/camping weekend.  She is the outdoorsy type and finds God’s voice in the wind, the sun, the trees, the Creation.

Some of my favorite gals convene in locations where they can enjoy activities as well as spiritual retreat.  Sandy Cove Ministries is one of these places.

Perhaps you enjoy silent prayer at a retreat center such as a Jesuit Center (such as this one located in Wernersville, PA).  

Where do you find rest?  Perhaps I’ll see you on the road to the river someday.

* "Honesty" by Margaret Becker, (c) 1989 His Eye Music (SESAC) on Immigrant's Daughter (Sparrow Records)

** "Just Come In" by Margaret Becker, (c) 1989 His Eye Music (SESAC) on Immigrant's Daughter (Sparrow Records)

***"This Is My Passion" by Margaret Becker, (c) 1989 His Eye Music (SESAC) on Immigrant's Daughter (Sparrow Records)