Lifted

“I raise my eyes toward the mountains.
Where will my help come from?
My help comes from the Lord,
the maker of heaven and earth.” Psalm 121, CEB

So, as I’ve been reclaiming the discipline of prayerful walking in this latter summer, I’ve been making rather a remarkable discovery. As I’ve been articulating it, it has seemed too elemental, too simple, too fundamental for me to have been missing for quite so long. But every day, every hour, every walk confirms me in my conclusion.

I’m spending too much time looking down.

For a variety of reasons, I’ve been keeping my eyes on my feet, my terrain, even my cell phone, for the last year or so. Even as the spring swelled and rejoiced around me, even as the snow melted beneath my feet, my gaze remained firmly locked on the, perhaps, two meters of my immediate surroundings. The path before me. The trail ahead.

And nothing else.

And at the same time that my outer eyes have been focused down, so, too have my inner eyes been turned just there…in. Too centered, too gathered in my own concerns, too steeped in my own worries to truly turn out, to truly see the people around me, near and far, too invested in my perceptions of them and my relations to them to spare a thought for how they themselves ARE. How their stories and lives are faring. What their fears and feasts are.

This state of affairs endured for months. In one form or another, with bumps and hiccups, I was walking a tight circle in the prison of my own making, with my eyes on the ground before me, for a very, very long time.

And then, one day, while I was visiting my family, hiking on a mountain trail, I was…moved? Called? To turn my eyes UP. To lift my eyes to the moutainside.

All at once, so many things which had seemed far away were drawn into enormous clarity. The trees beside my trail were the kin of the trees on the far side of the gorge. The rocks and boulders, the bright vividness of the sky, even the berries on distant bushes were in perspective. Grand and glorious…but also quite small, all things considered. It was all…very beautiful. And I hadn’t been looking.

At very much the same time, as I realized that I had been holding my eyes down, it became clear that I was also holding down my heart. Holding it close, preserving it, protecting it, and that the eyes of my heart were also downcast, and turned within.

For to look up, by nature, is to look out. When I lifted my eyes from the swirl of my own inner life, I began to see the neighbors and friends and strangers around me as people in need of my care. In need of my love and support. And to whom I longed – yearned – to yield that love and support.

I was out of practice, I’ll admit. I still am, to some degree, although it’s gotten markedly better. I’ve lost the habits of care that first pointed me to the ministry, that first called me to healing and attention and prophecy and love. I’ve lost ground, become so lost in the rocky highland valleys that I only half-remember how to even draw my gaze up.

But now, and in the days to come, I will lift my eyes to the hills, knowing from whence my help comes. For to look out…to look out is also to look up, to the One who dwells on the mountaintop.

My apologies, friends, to those I’ve missed, walking in the night with my collar turned to the cold and damp. I am very sorry. I’m back now, and I’m looking up. I’ll see you soon, I promise. Give me a call, drop me a note – let me know you’d appreciate a visit. I will see you soon.