Imlay City, MI
&
Lake Huron
(With a stop in between to see the windmills.)
May 7, 2015.
There was something oddly sacred about today, which was evident not only in the way God showed up for ME, but the way I heard He was showing up for those close to me, too. Makes me wonder what significance this day will hold when I look back on it from some time down the road when I have the added benefit of hindsight, which, as they say, is 20/20.
I decided on a whim this afternoon to take a drive north, as I usually only drive west and south, and sometimes east, but almost never north. A couple days ago I was driving through Detroit, and decided today called for quite the opposite kind of drive, and that's exactly what I got. I knew from past experience with the Thumb area that there is absolutely nothing there...at all...not even cell service, so it was no surprise to me when about twenty miles east of Sanilac, MI a notice popped up on my phone alerting me that the service had been dropped. It would not really have been a big deal except for the fact I was using my phone for its handy dandy GPS system. But, like I said, this was hardly surprising, considering everything north of Imlay City functions in a quasi-stone age state of living.
Relying on my compass, the map app, and my own nose for directions, I continued on my way until I could see the hazy blue horizon of Lake Huron. The part of the lake where I stopped is interesting because it's smack dab in the middle of farm country, so if you look to your right you see a beautiful, sprawling, feels-like-heaven beach; and if you look to your left you see crops...
Weird.
I found a place to park, grabbed my camera, and hopped out of my car. I would include pictures of the stone stairs leading down to the water, but I took those with my phone, and I want to try to keep this blog as free of iPhone photos as possible. One post on iPhone photography is quite enough, but if I feel so inclined, perhaps I will include the photo I'm think of later. (Perhaps.)
I shivered along the shore for maybe 20 minutes, took pictures, thanked God for bringing there safely and providentially, as the entire decision was spontaneous and unplanned up until the moment I arrived at the lake. I walked into the water for a total of .0001 seconds, as it was much colder than I anticipated, and all the while wished I did more spontaneous things like this on a regular basis. I walked back up the stone stairs smelling like beach (a heavenly scent) and full of a sense of probably inflated adventure. I think the fact I drove by myself to someplace I'd never been before made me feel like I could take on the world, (especially because I figured it out sans Siri).
As I made my way back to my car, I looked out over the wooden fence separating the parking lot from the steep drop to the beach below, and knew I couldn't leave without spending time in prayer. When I was a teenager I loved praying at Lake Michigan on camping trips. I remembered how amazing those times always were and knew I needed to do it again right then. There were some picnic tables facing toward the beach, so I dropped my phone and camera in my car and meandered to one of the cleanest looking tables I could find. I sat, looked out at the water, and prayed for a long time about the uncertainties in my heart and the seemingly looming future I cannot quite figure out.
Rather ordinary birds swirled over my head a ways from where I sat, and God drew my attention to them. "Look at the birds of the air; they do not sow or reap or store away in barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not much more valuable than they?" The verses from Matthew chapter six replayed in my mind over and over again, and the comfort was tangible, real, and a sign of a promise I will not forget. At my college graduation last weekend, our keynote speaker admonished us to be still, to listen to God, and we would know what to do.
Today, as I sat still above the shore of Lake Huron, listening to God, I felt peace. I felt assured. I felt a knowing sense that something was up. Something sacred was brewing--and still is! Along the drive to the lake, God pointed out three bronze bells to me, a symbol of faith He uses for me. A weapon against doubt. A reminder He is pleased with me. It was the sign I needed, the proof I'd been praying to see, and today, this most sacred of days, God began to turn the tide in my heart.
He is working. He is orchestrating. He is weaving strands of uncertainty together with ribbons of faith to create something truly remarkable. Something unique. Something only God could fashion out of humanity. When the rest of us try to perfect our humanity, we end up with sloppy seconds. That's why the only option we truly have is to hand our SELVES to Him. He is the only one who can make something out of nothing. Join me in handing my human nature to the one who designed my humanity in the first place. Let Him weave something beautiful, fashion something creative, orchestrate something immeasurable, and work on our behalf.
All He asks us to do in return is be still.
There was something oddly sacred about today, which was evident not only in the way God showed up for ME, but the way I heard He was showing up for those close to me, too. Makes me wonder what significance this day will hold when I look back on it from some time down the road when I have the added benefit of hindsight, which, as they say, is 20/20.
I decided on a whim this afternoon to take a drive north, as I usually only drive west and south, and sometimes east, but almost never north. A couple days ago I was driving through Detroit, and decided today called for quite the opposite kind of drive, and that's exactly what I got. I knew from past experience with the Thumb area that there is absolutely nothing there...at all...not even cell service, so it was no surprise to me when about twenty miles east of Sanilac, MI a notice popped up on my phone alerting me that the service had been dropped. It would not really have been a big deal except for the fact I was using my phone for its handy dandy GPS system. But, like I said, this was hardly surprising, considering everything north of Imlay City functions in a quasi-stone age state of living.
Relying on my compass, the map app, and my own nose for directions, I continued on my way until I could see the hazy blue horizon of Lake Huron. The part of the lake where I stopped is interesting because it's smack dab in the middle of farm country, so if you look to your right you see a beautiful, sprawling, feels-like-heaven beach; and if you look to your left you see crops...
Weird.
I found a place to park, grabbed my camera, and hopped out of my car. I would include pictures of the stone stairs leading down to the water, but I took those with my phone, and I want to try to keep this blog as free of iPhone photos as possible. One post on iPhone photography is quite enough, but if I feel so inclined, perhaps I will include the photo I'm think of later. (Perhaps.)
I shivered along the shore for maybe 20 minutes, took pictures, thanked God for bringing there safely and providentially, as the entire decision was spontaneous and unplanned up until the moment I arrived at the lake. I walked into the water for a total of .0001 seconds, as it was much colder than I anticipated, and all the while wished I did more spontaneous things like this on a regular basis. I walked back up the stone stairs smelling like beach (a heavenly scent) and full of a sense of probably inflated adventure. I think the fact I drove by myself to someplace I'd never been before made me feel like I could take on the world, (especially because I figured it out sans Siri).
As I made my way back to my car, I looked out over the wooden fence separating the parking lot from the steep drop to the beach below, and knew I couldn't leave without spending time in prayer. When I was a teenager I loved praying at Lake Michigan on camping trips. I remembered how amazing those times always were and knew I needed to do it again right then. There were some picnic tables facing toward the beach, so I dropped my phone and camera in my car and meandered to one of the cleanest looking tables I could find. I sat, looked out at the water, and prayed for a long time about the uncertainties in my heart and the seemingly looming future I cannot quite figure out.
Rather ordinary birds swirled over my head a ways from where I sat, and God drew my attention to them. "Look at the birds of the air; they do not sow or reap or store away in barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not much more valuable than they?" The verses from Matthew chapter six replayed in my mind over and over again, and the comfort was tangible, real, and a sign of a promise I will not forget. At my college graduation last weekend, our keynote speaker admonished us to be still, to listen to God, and we would know what to do.
Today, as I sat still above the shore of Lake Huron, listening to God, I felt peace. I felt assured. I felt a knowing sense that something was up. Something sacred was brewing--and still is! Along the drive to the lake, God pointed out three bronze bells to me, a symbol of faith He uses for me. A weapon against doubt. A reminder He is pleased with me. It was the sign I needed, the proof I'd been praying to see, and today, this most sacred of days, God began to turn the tide in my heart.
He is working. He is orchestrating. He is weaving strands of uncertainty together with ribbons of faith to create something truly remarkable. Something unique. Something only God could fashion out of humanity. When the rest of us try to perfect our humanity, we end up with sloppy seconds. That's why the only option we truly have is to hand our SELVES to Him. He is the only one who can make something out of nothing. Join me in handing my human nature to the one who designed my humanity in the first place. Let Him weave something beautiful, fashion something creative, orchestrate something immeasurable, and work on our behalf.
All He asks us to do in return is be still.
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