Stillness . . .

Sometimes things get crazy.  Well, most of the time things are crazy.  I thought maybe today was a good day for the gift of stillness.  This is the best illustration I have to offer . . . my best shot of stillness.

This photo helps me find center and take a moment to breathe and slow down.  I hope it will do that for you, too.

I can transport myself back to this moment easily - can remember it well.  This photo was sort of my own little bitty miracle to witness all by myself.  We were at a fun spot in North Carolina, and by day this lake is busy and bustling with the laughter and splashes of people of literally all ages.  This is a family retreat spot, a place that has seen decades upon decades of multi-generational groups and place where three year old swimmers laugh and splash with their eighty three year old uncles.  It's a magical spot.

The magic of this moment, though, was that I came upon the lake just after the last of the lifeguards had tidied up and left the dock, just after the last straggling family had gathered their towels and such and headed up the hill.  There was almost a  deafening quiet.  I liked it.  I stayed around for just a few moments, listening and watching.  Slowly, I began to hear the birds, the waterfowl whose calls had been muted by the happy yelps of swimming kids.  I began to notice the turtles on the old logs popping their heads back up and returning to their sunning spots.  I watched the water, lazily lapping up onto the rowboats and canoes, felt the gentle breeze and enjoyed my time there.  I could hear the occasional yell from up the hill, as folks hurried for dinner.  I could hear a laugh or bits of a far away conversation and then soon . . . I noticed could hear nothing but the lake sounds.  I could only hear the birds or the slight splash of a tiny fish.  It was wondrously quiet.  It was.

And then I noticed this.  I noticed that as far as my eyes could see, there was absolutely no movement atop the water.  There were no ripples.  There were no splashes.  Nothing was blowing.  Everything was quiet, resting, being still.  I remember vowing at that moment that I wouldn't forget this special scene, that I wouldn't forget how it felt - how it felt when I witnessed this awesome quiet, this awesome stillness.  It was my own little silent miracle and I loved it.

I wasn't sure I could take a photograph that would accurately describe the moment, but I snapped a few in hopes.  And then I found a weathered rocking chair at the base of the deck and I just sat.  I sat.  I listened.  I watched.

And, happily, I can look at the photo above and transport myself back there.  I wish I could go there now.  Wish I could have a tiny taste of that moment in each day.  For now, I'll take the photo.  Hope it helps you, too.  Enjoy this little gift of stillness in the craziness that is our days.  Enjoy.