The place was in a canyon in the mountains, surrounded by thick green forests. We stopped there to hike to the falls, that used to be called Donut Falls. It was an easy half-mile trail through meadows with rippling grasses as high as my waist. The beauty of the place was a combination of the pieces—the grass, the trees, the mountains, the winding river, the sky—all adding up to a scene that I think is the epitome of beauty.
But more than seeing the beauty, I remember feeling it. I walked a little ahead of the boys, the sun warming my head, and the Spirit warming my heart. I felt an awe for a God who could and did create such a place. And I felt thankfulness for the privilege of walking among such beautiful work.
After our little hike up to the falls, my two boys and I found a campsite close to the river so that Markus could finish off his summer list, fishing and roasting hot dogs. Morgen was at his friends house for a sleep over and I had already finished teaching for the day by early afternoon, so we decided to make a day of it. I thought about my own mother who felt such a deep love for the outdoors that she planned and prepared these kind of adventures every summer, weathering the hassle of cooking and hiking with 7 children.
I’ve always consciously tried hard to recognize and appreciate the unique beauty of each place I’ve lived. Certain things like the way a tree curves, the color of spring grass, or the magic of a cliff above the ocean, where grass, sky, and water all seem to meet. And feeling that awe usually humbles me. In my tiny sphere of responsibility as a mother, I marvel at the creation and perfection of my children’s bodies, the perfect little dimples in chubby feet, the way my son’s eyelashes look when he sleeps, or the strength I see developing in my son’s body. I feel amazed that I was a part of that process–that somehow my body helped create. What do you think? What makes you stop and marvel?
