Beve's Finnish brother and wife have been here for the last week and will be with us for most of the month. In the middle of their visit we'll celebrate Grampie's life with a memorial service we've been thinking about for a long time. We had to wait until all the moving parts could land on the same square of geography to have this service, and, even at that, we'll be missing several grandchildren. Sigh.
We took the Finn and wife up to our little place in the mountains overnight. It was a little overwhelming to the quiet Finnish wife. She wasn't sure what she was getting herself into, going off into the mountains. Beve didn't help matters any, with his quirky sense of humor, when he told her that if "three of the four of us make it back alive we'll be lucky." She laughed, but then was too nervous to eat lunch. I kept telling her that she'd like it, that the river would soothe her, and the cabin would be nicer than she could imagine. Beve helpfully showed her the picture of the front, but that DIDN'T help (not surprising, the front ISN'T its best feature!).
But then we got there. Got out of the car, breathed in the fresh air, opened the cabin (with the hidden key because--of course, we'd forgotten ours! That didn't help either!), and she walked in. Walked straight through the cabin, out onto the deck and looked out at the river. She was charmed. Beve pulled out our camping chairs and the two Finns sat out on that deck facing the river for a long time, listening to it roar over the rocks, watching it swirl and pool and marveling and the clear brilliance of a high mountain stream. Beve and I put things away, bustled around our little place, and laughed together. There's something about that river.
There's something about expectations, too, I think. About fears and expectations, perhaps I should say. What we'd described about our little cabin on the river worried our Finnish guest. This happens to me at times too. Sometimes my life mirrors this to a dizzying degree. God whispers something to me. But it's only a small piece. He asks me to trust Him that what He has for me is beautiful and better than I can imagine. A place completely suited for me. But I get the wrong picture in my head. Why is it that I think God--the God who loved so much we actually got Easter because of that LOVE--would lead me to something miserable? To a place that wouldn't be good for me? Right for me? What does that say about how I trust Him? How much faith I have in Him?
What if I could really, always take Him at His word? "Come on, Carolyn. Get in with me. We're going this way, and it's going to be the best adventure of your life?" Maybe that adventure would look like our cabin--not so glamorous from the front, but oh, what's inside. And oh, the view!
Isn't this what life with Him is really like when you think about it? We aren't so much to look at, maybe but what's inside. And the view from here: why, I can see to all eternity!