Though I'm mostly looking forward these days, I still have to take some time to look back. This was written Friday morning, my last day at Highland for the summer, after what has become a traditional good-bye/prayer walk.
I went on my usual walk early this morning to say goodbye. It was unbelievably clear, with the sun poking through the trees, the air crisp, and a shadow of moon lingering. I thought into the cool morning air, Highland, you have a giant piece of my heart.
Whether true or not, this doesn't feel like the end of my time at Highland. My time as a counselor is closing, that is for certain, and I'm fine with that. But whether it's self-preservation, idiotic hope, or a real sign, my mind refuses to disallow the possibility of returning. It's the wholehearted fun, enthusiasm for God and people, submerging in nature, living with arms wide open that I can't let go of. This has become my summer home, in a way, and perhaps my spirit's truest home.
I know that the end of a summer is not the right time for me to make any decisions about the future. In the words of our Fireside speaker this week, I'm telling God to be in the driver's seat. It might be impossible or totally wrong. But if it's right, God will lead us back here. Maybe I will feel differently in a few months, about coming back. But I will always love the things I love about working here, and I want so badly for them to be true year-round. Right now I'm content to wait and see what the future holds.
Just before returning to my cabin, I stopped on the familiar wooden bridge that's just on the verge of being too steep. As I watched the sparkling water tumbling down the creek, I thought,
You have lifted my heart into song, and I am thankful.
