The Elm Rustled

The Psalmist says, Psalm 46:11, 'Be still and know that I am God'.

I have experienced many trials in life. This doesn't make me special as we all deal with the various challenges which make life at times a chore, if not, of course, worse. At times worry and fear come close to devouring us. And then, life becomes still. 

Way back in 1985 as we were expecting our second child I went through a period of intense worry. Adulting had become scary; we had the one child already and I couldn't avoid fear for his future or how I might protect it. Now there would be another to add to that concern. You quite easily feel small. You don't know that you can live up to the responsibility. All those things which you can't control well up inside you too. The future becomes daunting; what will you do? What can you do?

I dealt with such feelings for several weeks in August and September 1985. It led to an intense sense of fear and, oddly, loneliness. I felt too alone to deal with it.

While walking the dog one day this worry seemed to reach a peak. We, the dog and I, were next to the big elm which still rises above the south side of the house. The future stared me square in the face; fear of it was trying to overwhelm me. I remember exhaling heavily. Then a breeze came up, and I noticed the leaves rustling. After a moment all became quiet, and I realized the quiet. Next was stillness. In the stillness, all the worry left. Vanished. In an instant I was eased.

Although I have in the 40 years since still experienced my share of foreboding I have not again felt the same near despair as I had up until the day the elm tree rustled and the stillness descended. It is a fine calm on which to moor my boat. 

The Quiet

People say that big cities are noisy. They say that because they are. As I sit typing this out on my Kindle I hear all sorts of constant, background noise. Aircraft; cars driving by the house; the low hum of machinery somewhere. Even the freeway which is about a half mile north of me is obvious. And this is only Detroit. New York City, Boston, Chicago, Toronto; they're all worse. The D is rather tame by comparison.

It's what you get used to I suppose, but it really makes me like the quiet of the Upper Peninsula all the more. When it's quiet in Hessel, it's quiet, so much so that a car simply passing can startle. 

Even where there's noise, the noise is different. On our way back from the UP State Fair in Escanaba, close to three hours from Hessel, me son Charlie and I stopped at a rest area around 1:30 AM. It was silent but for the waters of Lake Michigan lapping at the sand and rocks beyond the parking lot. Yet those waves, while a little rough, made a soothing sound, almost a rhythm, which enchanted rather than distracted. The sound of the occasional car headed down Forest Avenue next to my house does not compare.

Perhaps it's merely psychological, but I believe that it's only in the quiet that we can touch the ethereal, the numinous, the that which is not us. The quiet isolates; it causes focus, so that we appreciate what connection we have to the unseen which we nevertheless feel. Quiet refines the senses, so that we may find God alongside.