January felt particularly long this year. After several cloudy weeks with no sun in sight, my emotional state mirrored the constant gray. Usually snow tempers this for me, its crystalline beauty creating a winter wonderland that I love to explore. Finally, three weeks in, my chance came–several inches had fallen over the past couple of days, enough to build up a solid base on the cross-country ski trails at the park near our house.
Feeling a bit disconnected and uninspired, I finished a text conversation with a friend, telling him I was going to “go enjoy the woods and see if I can’t feel the Divine.” His response was perfect: “Nice. Enjoy! And tell her I said hello.” I smiled, as his natural reference to “her” sparked something inside me. I’d intentionally referred to “the Divine,” knowing that I longed for a connection with the Presence I’ve felt in sacred moments, a Presence that was so very different from what the name God more often conjures up for me: images that are judgmental, stern, and definitely not feminine. And yet even in my intentionality, I wasn’t imagining “her.”
Arriving at the park, I counted several cars in the parking lot, alleviating the little bit of discomfort I felt about skiing alone for the first time. I stepped into my skis and set off on a trail that I knew would take me along Pigeon Creek, my favorite place in the park. In my experience, there are few things as beautiful as dense woods, thick with snow-covered trees, the layer of snow muffling sounds and creating a surreal quiet. The snow was still gently falling, and the sun was actually peeking out, casting long tree-shadows on the trail ahead.
After a few minutes of breathing hard and working to maintain my balance, my body fell into the familiar rhythm of pushing and gliding, pushing and gliding, enough so that I began to take in more of my surroundings. My senses felt alive and active, very unlike the dull numbness of the past weeks. I swear I could even smell the snow! When I reached the creek, I skied over to the edge, listening to the water rushing over the smooth rocks lining the creek bed, saw the sunlight streaming down through the trees, dancing in sparkling patches on the surface of the water. I decided to sit for a few moments on a nearby bench, wanting to soak in as much beauty as possible.
After watching the water for a while, I leaned back and allowed my eyes to drift shut. I wanted to talk with Her, and while my brain has made a new connection to “her,” it has not yet connected with open-eyed prayer.
I was aware of feeling more connected, embodied, than I had been in quite a while, able to feel and speak what I had been holding inside.
I waited in the stillness, risking again my longing for a felt sense of the Divine. With my face tipped up, I noticed the sudden gust of wind, cold air skimming over my cheeks, leaves rustling overhead. An equally strong burst of emotion welled up inside. She heard. She knows me.
I loaded my skis back into my car that day with a full heart, grateful for the experience, aware that the little bench by Pigeon Creek will join other spaces that I hold memories of sacred encounters in. Back at home, I wrote a poem of sorts (I’m not a poet) in an attempt to capture the diverse images and senses I had of Her that day in the woods.
SHE
She is beauty
She is stillness
She is graceful
She is laughter
She is powerful
She is gentle
She is sparkling
She is shadow
She is movement
She is quiet
She is light
She is comfort
She is good.
I think a common temptation after experiences like this can be to try and replicate the experience, hoping to recreate the connection by following the same steps. And yet my experience has been that this is a sure path to disappointment, a reminder that the Divine, Spirit, Jesus can’t be conjured up like magic…She is far more mysterious than that.
Janet Stark is a woman learning to bless her depth and sensitivity. She is grateful for the deep love she shares with her husband, Chris, and their kids and grandkids. Janet loves curling up with a good book, trying new recipes on her friends and family, and enjoying long conversations with friends over a cup of really good coffee. She is a life-long lover of words and writes about her experiences here.
Such a beautiful description – felt like I was there. Thank you for this gift.
Thank you, Jen.
Janet, your writing is so lovely in its description of the peace that that can fall upon us when engaging with God’s creation. I mean no harm, but I am concerned about describing God as “She” unless it is clearly identified as metaphor. C.S. Lewis spoke to this in his 1970 book, God in the Dock: “Christians think that God Himself has taught us how to speak of Him. To say that it does not matter is to say either that all the masculine imagery is not inspired, is merely human in origin, or else that, though inspired, it is quite arbitrary and unessential.” If Scripture can be picked apart and made to “evolve” through the lens of current culture, then the assurance of my salvation is imperiled indeed.
Please forgive me for my poor punctuation. That last sentence was mine alone, and not Mr. Lewis’s.
Susan, thank you for taking the time to read and and share your perspective. I am not a theologian, though I have respect for them, particularly C.S. Lewis.
I am a woman, and write from my personal experience – in this case, my encounter with Divine presence in creation. My personal belief is that God – by nature of being God, not human – is expansive enough to contain male and female; if not, He/She would not be God.
I LOVE this piece. Sparkling beauty. Love you, Christine
Thank you Christine! Much love to you as well.
Janet, your ability to bring a reader along with you on your journey is excellent; I felt like I could see and feel what you described. I appreciate the transition from feeling dull to awake not only to the beauty of the scenery but your connection to your own feelings. Like Susan, I too found myself concerned by your use of “Her”; which seems to be used in reference to God. If you are instead referring to yourself or “Mother Nature” then I can flex my boundaries a bit. God calls himself “He”, and we don’t get to reassign his gender. Thanks.
Louise, thank you for reading. I’m glad it allowed some connection for you as well, that is the beauty of sharing in this space. Thank you for sharing your concern as well about my use of “She.”
I write from my own personal perspective and experience as a woman. My belief, based on my experience, is that God is not bound by male and female – those are human categories. I believe God is expansive enough to contain and transcend male and female, or He/She would not be God.
Janet, I felt surrounded in the beautiful scene that you created with your words and your heart. The “crystalline beauty” that you describe, the soft, quiet space feels so safe and inviting. I felt right there with you smelling the snow and feeling the “air skimming” and hearing the”leaves rustling”. I can see why it allowed you to open your senses and your heart to receive the goodness that you experienced in that space. Although I am becoming more comfortable with the masculine image of God, it is a process. And it’s only in more recent times that I’ve become comfortable addressing Him as Father.
After reading your piece, a scene came to mind where I was deeply wounded by a woman that I had served, helping her to create a memorial for her husband and herself. I met with her multiple times, and we had built a sweet relationship and even talked about meeting socially some time. She stormed into my office one day after her monument had been set, land blasting me with anger and even using the F- word multiple times, All of this happened in front of a sweet little old lady that I had been sitting with, helping her to create a memorial for herself. When the angry woman left, I turned toward who I now call my little purple angel, since she was all dressed in my favorite color, and I burst into uncontrollable tears. She stood up from the table and wrapped her arms around me and held me and kept repeating that it was okay and that I didn’t deserve to be treated that way. I eventually regained my composure and was able to help her with the rest of what she came for. I’ll never forget her. A short time later, after sharing this story with a friend, my friend replied that God had mothered me through this little purple angel. I had never thought about God “mothering” me before, but I agreed with her. I believe that was just what I needed at that moment. And God knew that too. He knows exactly what we need at any given moment to bring us into a deeper presence and experience of Him and to bring healing to those places that we’re not even aware of. And sometimes that comes in the form of a “Her”, and I love that! Thank you for sharing. I’ve been deeply touched and inspired.
Christine, I love your honesty in naming the struggle to become more comfortable with addressing God as Father – I definitely have struggled with that as well.
Your story of your “little purple angel” brought tears to my eyes! What an incredible response in the face of such destructive anger. I am with you in believing that God speaks to us in the way we need for healing – in this case, clearly mothering the part of you that needed to be comforted and held. So very beautiful, thank you for sharing!
Just starting to imagine “her”. So many layers of god-imaging to get through. This drew me
Yes, so many layers, that is a good picture. I’m with you on being in the early stages of imagining and recognizing, as I said, I was noticeably surprised when my friend said “her.” Years of conditioning to be curious about. Sending love your way today,