I just sat down in the middle of it.  No other response would do.

Breath.  Pneuma.  Ruach.

Have you ever been in a place where you felt like you could finally release the breath you’ve been holding forever and really fill your lungs with crisp, clean mountain air?  And at the same time, your breath is taken away - figuratively and literally?

That’s how it happened.  

Due to the 24/7/365 news cycle that had been wearing me down with each successive crisis, I felt like I was always holding my breath and waiting for the next story.  It’s not a healthy way to live.

Then I went to Glacier National Park for a photography seminar.  Our sunrise shoot was in a mountain meadow full of wildflowers.  There was a cold, glacial lake in view and craggy peaks surrounding us.  The spaciousness invited me to breathe.  Deeply.  I sat down, right in the middle of those blossoms bobbing in the cool morning breeze.

I was struck by the paradox of feeling like I could truly breathe and having my breath stolen by the glory of the morning. It occurred to me that living in Ohio and traveling to a place that was more than a mile above sea level might have actually taken my breath away too.

I celebrated being alive and lucky enough to wander in this inspiring place.  

Having no cell signal and no internet connection for a few days forced me to disconnect from the daily chaos, and I remembered what it felt like to breathe deeply.

Breathe.  

Just breathe.  

There’s glory all around.  ​

Breathe.

When I first approached this area in Glacier National Park, I only noticed the waterfalls. They were a colorful, roiling torrent of snow melt tumbling rapidly downhill. But after sitting a bit, I discovered a quiet pool of water filling a bowl in the top of a boulder. The surface was still enough to reflect the trees above it.
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It was a gentle reminder that even when there is turbulence all around us, we don’t have to participate in it. We can find a quiet place to sit and reflect.

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​I’ve been thinking about gravity lately. What prompted it were these boxes. I was working out, doing my leg exercises, and there were three wooden boxes neatly arranged against the wall. The two shorter boxes were on their sides to take up less space, and the largest one was sitting flat on the floor.


I wondered, “Could I still jump high enough to land on top of the biggest box?” You can imagine how that led to pondering gravity - both the effect of gravity on that effort, and the gravity of the situation, if I failed to stick the landing.


Gravity seems to have more of a grip on me as I’m aging. It feels harder to get up off the floor, to pick up things I’ve dropped, even to roll over in bed. Why is that? When I was a child, I skipped, jumped, and hopped my way through the day with never a thought about what held me down to earth. Now I have to think about whether or not I want to risk having both feet off the ground at the same time.


Then there’s the other meaning of gravity - serious or critical in nature. The issues facing the world today seem to have more gravity. Fingers on the nuclear buttons, false missile warnings in Hawaii, looming government shutdowns - everything feels heavier, more weighty.


What do you think?  How is gravity affecting you these days?


Oh, those boxes?  I didn’t try it…yet.



If you enjoyed this post, please explore my book, Following the Bread Crumbs.
www.shirleyweyrauch.com/book.html

I had my first book signing yesterday at Christ United Church of Christ, my church home. This is the congregation that has nurtured my gifts over my entire life. I love them and appreciate their encouragement.

The proof copy of my book Following the Bread Crumbs arrived today!  It's just about like Christmas.  I didn't actually set out to write a book.  I wanted to take really great photographs, so in 2012 I attended my first serious photography workshop, and I started improving my skills as a photographer.  Then I got this idea that I should use my photos to create prayer stations for my church in the summer months when we didn't offer Sunday school.  One thing led to another, and after three summers of weekly prayer stations, people started saying, "You should do something with these."

Hmmm.  But what should I do?  I decided to collect them into a book format, and what sounded like a simple project took on a life of its own.  I needed a publisher, one that offered color printing for the photos I would use.  All of the individual meditations had to be put into one complete manuscript.  There were revisions.  And more revisions.  And decisions.  Who knew how many choices would need to be made?  Even though the publisher said this would all be on my timeline, it seemed to move along pretty quickly.

Now, here it is.  My first book!  

First book?  Does that mean there will be more?  

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