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UPDATE: I decided to copy and paste my post here lest it get deleted at some point. Enjoy!
I’m probably not the only one who thinks Maria’s proclamation that “the hills are alive with the sound of music” is a little hokey. The beauty here in Juneau is, of course, extremely stimulating both visually and creatively. But musically? Perhaps, being one who is a realist and not a composer, I struggle to make the connection.
However, when I walked out of the forest and onto a beach, there I saw, lining the ocean, mountains carpeted with evergreens, and behind them more mountains, so far away that their color had faded to a slate blue, and so tall that the snow at the top had still not succumbed to the heat of the summer. The sunshine filled the air with gold dust, and yet it was so clean and refreshing to breathe that it felt like getting your face splashed with water. Observing this vigorously gorgeous scene, I felt that I very nearly heard a symphony filling the vast blue sky as if coming from the lungs of the mountains themselves. But of course, realistically, I heard nothing at all of the sort. It was like blowing a dog whistle that is too high in pitch for humans to hear; you know there is sound occurring, but you are not perceptive enough to hear it for yourself. It was almost frustrating, because my heart ached with the fullness of what my eyes took in and with the emptiness in my ears.
Moments like this are common here, and I find that perhaps the best way to describe them is to say it is bringing me to life in a way that almost feels like death, much like sprinting can cause you to gasp for air even as you strengthen your body. Just before walking onto the beach (as previously described), I had climbed up a big hill in order to stand near the top of a roaring waterfall. In all my experiences in the past of being in such settings, there have been wide paths, sturdy railings, and ominous warning signs. That was not the case at all here. Although some roots and rocks made natural stairs along the path, it was narrow and even somewhat difficult to travel. It was clearly not the most visited tourist attraction. Upon arriving at the top, there was absolutely nothing holding me back from falling to my death should I lose my footing. We stepped down, clinging to trees, claiming spots along the side of a cliff to observe the white gush before us. Then we walked upstream only a few feet away to see the waterfall from a different angle. So much clear water barreled down the shallow river dangerously, but I stepped onto the wet mossy rocks that stuck out into it and wished I could sit there for a very long time. We stayed for precious few minutes and I found it to be extremely difficult to pull myself away.
I took a “pathways assessment” last week, a test about how I relate to God the best. Although I scored highest as being “contemplative,” I also realized some of the traits I have in the “naturalist” category. It’s tempting, here, to worship the created rather than the Creator, but when I look at the mountains, the waterfall, the pale blue sky at midnight, and a huge number of other beautiful and fascinating things here, my heart bursts with song for my God. I worship God in retrospect of that experience by the waterfall, but I think why I wanted so badly to stay there was so that I could worship solitarily in a most extraordinary location; a place quite tucked away in the earth where I could touch cheeks with him. Afterward, though, when I crossed the beach to the water, I climbed into a boat and stood in it while it sped past countless more things too beautiful for words, and in that longer moment I fully worshiped God in and through my admiration of it all.
That night, after returning to campus, about 15 of us gathered in the lodge for a worship night. I didn’t sing as much as I’d have liked and I had to sit down during most of it due to dizziness (from seasickness or dehydration?), but I definitely worshiped. Despite my exhaustion, I stayed for over two hours, listening to and participating in worshipful music played and sung by people I have been growing to love. I stayed until there was only one person left noodling on a guitar quietly, again finding myself in a situation I felt unable to pull myself away from because of the beauty and sheer glory of God’s participation in it all.
Whether or not the hills are truly alive, whether or not God breathed life into anything except Adam in the garden of Eden, whether or not there’s a song I can’t hear, whether or not the songs I do hear and sing are worth anything at all, I am learning that God is more powerful and extraordinary than I could have ever imagined him to be.
God bless.
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