By Cameron Simmons
At least once a year, my inner adventure junkie cries out to be
fed, and I long to travel to some far-off, mysterious place. This year, I
satisfied the hunger with a trip to one of the most beautiful places on
earth: Sedona, Arizona. For several days, we hiked and climbed and
explored Indian ruins in this gorgeous high desert country. More than
anything else, we would just climb to a high spot with a good view
and stare. The red sandstone cliffs and blazing blue sky command your
attention; cool, dry mountain air tinted with the smell of juniper fills
your nostrils and your chest; the world turns a little slower, and you
just take it all in.
Places of natural beauty like Sedona have always been inspirational
to me. I felt the same way on Trout Lake in northern Ontario, miles
from the nearest road or fence. I’ve also had similar experiences in
more man-made environments. Communion in St. Paul’s Cathedral in
London was awe-inspiring, as was viewing the Sistine Chapel.
While I was taking in all the great scenery in Sedona, I read this
excerpt from Anne Lamott’s book, Grace (Eventually): “I knew that
no one comes holier than anyone else, that nowhere is better than
anywhere else...Nature, family, children, cadavers, birth, rivers in
which we pee and bathe, splash and flirt and float memorial candles–in
these you would find holiness.” The statement gave me pause. I’ve
spent many hours and many dollars traveling to places I thought would
inspire me. Now Ms. Lamott is boldly proclaiming that nowhere is
better than anywhere else. Should I have just stayed home?
I wouldn’t trade my travel experiences for anything, but I do think
it is a step toward maturity to understand that the inspirational grass
isn’t always greener on the other side of the fence (or the globe).
Holiness can be found at home as much as abroad, in the mundane
as much as the exotic. Under the thick canopy of our usual routines
and obligations, inspiration struggles to find light and grow. I have a
sinking feeling that we’ve created lives for ourselves that squeeze all
the inspiration out, and have to run away from them periodically to
breathe again.
Ken Gire, in his book, The Reflective Life, says, “It is a great loss
that we awake to so many gifts on a given day, not only without
opening them, but without knowing they are even there for us to
open.” Inspiration is all around us. It is not reserved for those who can
afford exotic destinations, and is not limited to one or two exceptional
experiences per year. The trick is not missing the gifts that are laid out
for us with every new day. Natural beauty can still be found almost
anywhere. In my neighborhood along the Texas coast, pelicans and
wild parrots nest on electrical service towers. It’s a poetic move on
their part, I believe, to claim these eyesores as natural habitat. When
I’m fishing in Galveston Bay, I’m surrounded by refineries and shipping
industry, and the water is usually the color and consistency of diluted
chocolate milk. But sunrise or sunset over the water still moves me, and
a speckled trout on the line is food for my soul as well as my table.
God is revealed perhaps most powerfully in relationships, which are
almost always more substantive where we live than when we roam.
Nothing is more refreshing than dinner with friends, and nothing
more inspiring than helping people in need. Even the most dramatic
experiences lack meaning unless we have people with which to share
them.
It’s unlikely that I’ll ever lose my desire to travel, but if I pay attention,
the benefits of travel can be experienced year-round without leaving
my home or community, and home can become a holy place. Perhaps
the greatest awakening isn’t found “over there”. Maybe heightened
awareness really means becoming aware of the gifts of everyday, the
beauty of simple living, and the treasure of the people with whom we
share it.
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