Moments to Live For

I peeked my head out of the sleeping bag and saw that the sky was gathering light from the morning sun. I watched the tops of the trees move back and forth in rhythm with the swinging of my hammock. I listened to a single crow caw, but all else was peacefully silent. Although I went to bed late and tossed and turned a couple of times in the night, I couldn't wait to get up with the sun. For some reason, it is hard to sleep in when camping. 

I didn't realize how cold it was outside until I ventured out of my down sleeping bag. I shivered while trying to make a fire with frozen fingers, but I didn't mind. I actually secretly enjoyed it. I stirred up the hot coals from the night before and didn't even need a match to light some small sticks. I boiled enough water to enjoy two cups of hot chocolate, which steamed beautifully in the morning air and mixed with the rustic smoke from the camp fire. 

I just sat there. For almost two hours. Still and silent. Listening to the fire crackle. Sipping slowly on my warm drink. Listening to the birds wake up and sing. Watching the sunshine creep down from the tops of the trees to the mossy, mulchy ground beneath.  Reading my Bible and pretending that Jesus was right there with me. Only it is not really pretending that much at all. 

It is moments like these that I live for. 

These words, chosen so carefully, still seem so inadequate when trying to describe the beauty, inner stillness, and yet bursting delight that comes from early morning solitude spent in the presence of God as expressed through His Word, prayer, and creation. 

And then, I heard stirring nearby, and my fellow campers began to awaken. We cooked breakfast together before packing lunches and heading out for another hike. We spent countless hours together this weekend hiking, playing games, hanging out, and talking about faith and life and Christ. In all this, I think I laughed more than I have in a long time. 

On the way to the campground, we celebrated because I had literally just finished my critical care simulation - the dreaded test of nursing school - about one hour before. We rolled down the windows and jammed out to songs about freedom...and I laughed. 

We hung hammocks in our campsite, and Rachel tucked me in the first night. She helped me get all snuggled down and comfortable before suddenly tickling me when I was most vulnerable, causing me to practically roll right out of the hammock...and I laughed harder than I had laughed in a long time. 

When we hiked to Petit Jean falls, there was more water coming over the top than any other time I had ever seen it. I was so amazed that I stood there in awe...and laughed with delight. 

I taught Rachel how to drive my car, a manual transmission, in a parking lot. On her first jerky attempt into first gear, I caught myself laughing hard once again. 

Sitting around the table late at night playing Skip-Bo to the light of a lantern, the conversation gradually drifted to Christ and then stayed there for a while. This was not the first time this happened that weekend. Later that night, I found my heart laughing. As I lay in my hammock, I was overcome with delight in who God is and how He reveals Himself to me through my friends. 

It is moments like these that I live for. 

I can't decide whether I am an introvert or an extrovert. Sometimes, I draw deep energy from being along in the quiet hours of the morning...just me and Jesus. Those are the moments that really matter. Other times, I am rewarded and refreshed from being in community with other believers. And I think, no, these are the moments that really matter. I guess that's the beauty of our faith - we come to know God through solitude and community, through still quietness and loud laughter.