The golden trees in the southeast ridge of the retreat center are alive with deep green leaves. At first they don’t appear to be as tall as they were that autumn of my first retreat here, then I realize they’ve all been “topped.” Where once graceful tappers reached heavenward, there are flat, harsh cuts that stunt them.

A somewhat inconsistent yet frequent wind strains their branches as it gusts up and over the ridge behind them. I realize their “topping” was for protection, preventing them from growing too tall and snapping under the force of the gusts. This action by a master tree man intentionally forces new growth down lower on the tree’s trunk. The new growth providing the needed leaves to soak in the warmth of the sun, in turn strengthening the trunk of the tree.

I imagine I am like one of these trees. They teach me about my recent season of sorrow and pain. Has God indeed topped me? For my own good? Has my suffering prevented me from becoming too tall, too thin and too weak? Did I need renewed strength within me?

I sit and watch the unpredictable wind gust in and around the trees. The fresh mountain air is alive. The trees sway gracefully where the wind would take them, but they are not in danger of breaking. I yearn for that grace and welcome new  strength in places I thought I had already grown through. Thank you Lord for this vision.

Perhaps as God watches me, I already have a hint of that grace. I struggle inside and cry out to him, yet I have not broken. I bend and sway with each twist and turn of the ever changing gusts of wind in my life.

Help me Lord to be flexible and ever dependent up on you whatever you allow to befall me.

Dizzy my mind has been of late. A whirlwind of shifting thoughts and feelings.

I sit – still, yet I am not.

I feel as if all the particles that make up my body, might at any moment pull apart. Leaving where I once was a heap of the smaller pieces my body is made from.

Another voice calls to me,

Look up, see higher things. The blue of the sky the softness of the clouds.

And so I answer the call, gazing upward.

I behold beauty that only One can orchestrate, symmetry in the world around me. The trees near me are perfectly outlined by soft white clouds miles behind them. Every bump in their outline perfectly haloed as if by an aura. Each contour echoed in pattern. Yet this pattern can only be seen from exactly where I sit.

A whisper through the chaos,

I am in control. All things are ordered aright. 

Here on the mountain I have spoken to you clearly: I will not often do so down in Narnia. Here on the mountain, the air is clear and your mind is clear; as you drop down into Narnia, the air will thicken. Take great care that it does not confuse your mind. And the signs which you have learned here will not look at all as you expect them to look, when you meet them there. That is why it is so important to know them by heart and pay no attention to appearances. Remember the signs and believe the signs. Nothing else matters.

With great wisdom Aslan encourages the little girl. “Here, in my presence you will know and understand, but the air down below will become thick and confuse your mind.”

This has been my own experience, drawing away to be with God. Seeking Him, intentionally in a “thin place.” The richness of meeting him, moments of crystal clarity. Then the obligatory returning to the world.

The air does become thick – quickly. Oh the burdens of life. They make His lessons thin, elusive. This doesn’t negate the mountain top experience, it only reinforces the need for those moments and the urgency of practicing what you learn there. To live with the assurance of those things which you know to be true, to record them deeply, to know them by heart.

“Nothing else matters,” nothing else.