I scoop my camera off the side table as we head out the door, boots and hats pulled snug against the cold. The sun burns high in blue stretched taut and almost transparent over this winter’s day. As we drive, we shield our eyes from the light even as I angle towards it. My fingers trace my lens cap while I press my face to cool glass to bask in warmth. I am excited. Antsy.
There is nothing exotic about where we’re headed. Trails and evergreens. Bleakly bare branches and trodden snow. Perhaps with the recent melt our boots will squelch in mud and threaten to topple us. It’s an ordinary sort of place, our destination.
In the quiet companionship of the drive, the words of the psalmist weave their way through my memory; the reading from the previous day’s worship. Squeezing shut my eyes behind my shades I can picture the God-adjectives I had underlined in my Bible: great, good, awesome, majestic…
The adjectives – those that fill this space – have been so few lately. I hunt for them, fingers tracing still keyboard letters, and I wonder where they’ve gone to. I nudge a limping cursor across the screen, willing it to hatch a life of its own. Wishing it could climb out of the humdrum of an ordinary life into something worth reading.
We find a parking spot, slip out from the car and find ourselves where I need to be… in the ordinary of low winter brush and sun-splashed trees, pine needles glinting and steam rising from melting slush. Small rocks sweetly green with algae and the life of things small enough for a hurried eye to miss. I tuck my lens cap into my pocket and look for light that captures the adjectives a hungry heart needs.
‘Glorious splendour,’ the psalmist calls it, this evidence of the Creator’s mighty work.
‘If we look for evidence of His majesty, we will always find it,’ the pastor reminded us.
Mighty, majestic work, if seen through the right lens…
Linking up (a little late) with sweet Michelle: