It seems like for the greater portion of my life, I strove and fought to get to the place where I could finally say This is where I'm supposed to be. I kept waiting on life to raise that white flag and say, "Alright. You found me!" What I learned, however, is that this "place" we strive so hard to get to is like a mirage. Sometimes we think we can see a glimpse of it forming before us, but the closer we get to it, the quicker it dissolves into thin air and replaces itself with a new vision.
Has it always been this way? Have we always been a people who are never satisfied, who are always searching for more? Was there ever a time when people just lived?
These questions truly began to develop last week while my husband and I were backpacking on Mt. LeConte, the second largest mountain in Tennessee's Great Smoky Mountains. With only a mile or so left of the trail to climb, it started to snow, and as we ascended, the weather grew colder, and the snow fell stronger and more blustery than I had ever witnessed before. As we stood there on a ledge waiting out the storm, it truly felt as if we were trapped in a blizzard. My clothes were getting wet, my hands were becoming icicles, and my spirits were dampening by the minute. Obviously, getting to my destination and getting warm were my primary concerns; all of my other worries had seemed to vanish.
Once on top of the mountain, we took refuge in the dining hall and lodge, sipping hot cocoa and resting by the gas-lit heaters. We found ourselves staring out of the window, growing increasingly more aware of the cold night in the shelter that lay before us, and as daylight slowly diminished and a icy, bleak darkness swept over the mountain, I began to think about the people who used to inhabit those mountains hundreds of years ago. They weren't worried about how many calories they consumed, how high they could climb up the corporate ladder, or how shiny their new cars were. They weren't constantly attached to cell phones or continuously checking their social-networking accounts. They focused on what was real, and reality for these people was family...and survival. We, on the contrary, live lives where failure isn't an option, where the amount of choices we have is incalculable, and where stress is a natural part of life. In sum, we live in an easy world that we choose to make difficult.
While the wind howled through the fir trees, and the first signs of sleep finally began to settle in, I realized that all it takes is getting out of our comfort zones--even for just a day--to really make us feel alive and human. Simply take us out of our element for a moment, and we will find ourselves falling back into a pattern mimicking that of a child: yearning to be warm, fed, held, dry, and clean. Everything else--all the noise that drowns out what truly matters in life--no longer remains a concern. Miraculously, the little problems that used to plague us no longer seem so important, and the little things we used to overlook now seem so precious and beautiful.
We are all guilty of forgetting how to live with the innocence of a child, but learning to live a little simpler will allow us to truly grasp what love really means. Moreover, it will give us a broader view of the world around us, helping us to prioritize what really counts. Living a slower, simpler life can help connect us with our desire to feel safe...human...loved. This desire is what sets us apart from everything else; it's what the human soul craves the most. It's what makes being human so special.
As we hiked down the mountain the next day, the sun shone brightly, and the formerly snow-laden tree boughs revealed blooms that would blossom within a few, short days. It seemed as if we had been transplanted to another season. Life is like that sometimes. Below the surface of all of our stresses, headaches, and problems, something special is taking shape just for us. We need only to calm our minds, listen for God's still voice, and truly learn to let go of those things that incessantly burden us.
The snow storms of life don't have to stop us from living. The sun will rise again, and with that, we have peace.
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