Turn North

Here is one thing I am better at than anyone I know -- most likely because I practiced and practiced and practiced it: Worrying.


Of course, I call it "puzzling" -- as in, let me just go home and puzzle this through and then I cannot sleep for days, make "pros and cons" lists, flip coins or whatever it takes to come to a decision which could take weeks, cause me to overeat, have insomnia and wreck any interaction I  have with other humans...or loving pets.


Yes, this is a true talent I have cultivated.


Now bear in mind I am talking MOUNTAINOUS decisions - The BIG STUFF. Stuff that costs money, can change/enhance/end a life or create new big stuff to worry about.


Aunt Val will remark, after a lengthy discussion where we had yet again intersected, bisected and dissected something,"Dear, you do know how to walk something around the block."


Aunt Val loves me.
Aunt Val "gets me."
There is certainly a special place in heaven for her because I am her niece.


For a few days I have been worrying to such a degree that the thing I was "puzzling" (aka "fighting with") was taking on the appearance of a well-loved dog toy -- unraveled, soggy and almost unidentifiable to the point I just didn't want to pick it up at all. Much less "walk it around the block" one more time.


So after work, I got in my car and drove to a park here in my hometown. A beautiful place nestled between the bluffs by Old Man River and comes with a great walking "loop" - great in that it is paved, follows the river and is hardly patronized that time of day.


I parked my car, tugged on a hat and jacket and began walking.


As I walked, I pushed away any thought that popped up  --


its cold. Shush.
Is that a gull on the river or a swan? Shush.
I wonder why that guy is just sitting in his car as...SHUSH!
I might be hungry, what about a snack? SHUSH!
I wonder if my hat will...for heaven's sake SHUT UP!
And so it continued...thought? SHUSH!


It took some walking and walking and walking but finally - silence in my head.


There was NOTHING.


Nothing.


Nothing.


Simply silence.


My stride slowed, my heart stopped racing, my breaths became even and deep. My face relaxed and I was smiling.


Here is the backstory:


On my most recent vacation I went to a hermitage. Alone. No running water, electricity or indoor plumbing.  Far away from folks in a little bitty one room cabin. Me, my French press and coffee because God truly understands my need for Seattle's Best in the morning, my bible, my journal, a couple changes of clothes, my hiking sticks and that is it. oh. And my toothbrush, washcloth and sliver of soap.


Every morning a small basket containing a jug of water, a loaf of brown bread, fruit and a wedge of cheese appeared at my door. Manna from heaven if you will. I had a gas ring I could light to heat-up water and a view of the lake and prairie that never bored me.


What I couldn't do was TALK. Not to anyone. Not even to myself or to God. SILENCE!


Which is difficult for most and darn right impossible for me.


You know me.
I am a talker.


But I wanted to try. It was on my bucket list.


So I went. And I was SILENT! Well, except for one snort out loud but that comes later in the story.


After first long day of hiking in the prairie and around the lake I had figured out if I felt safe and was  surrounded by nature I could WALK MYSELF TO SILENCE!!


No joke.


Silence was good.


In silence breathing came easier, my body aches eased, my smile became deeper and everything around me was more focused. Colorful. Alive.


I loved this thing called silence.


Here is a second thing I learned while on vacation that until today was totally unrelated to the first: Actually, its something I read that struck me so funny I SNORTED OUT LOUD! (oops - sorry God).


I paraphrase but here is what I read:


"You have circled this mountain long enough. Now turn North." (Deuteronomy 2:3).


So today I decided to try and find silence and stop worrying for at least a little while. So I went to the park and walked and walked and walked.


It worked.


Silence.


And then came the truly wonderful gift of all this silence: My worrying "Turned North."


No more mountain.


Decision made.


Time to get back in the car and go home.


I am still smiling.