Purple Mountain's Majesty.

For once I'm at a loss for words.

I'm caught in a flurry and my limbs are flailing trying to grab onto all that I'm feeling right now.

I'm exhausted.

Yet I'm momentarily refreshed.

I'm frustrated.

Yet slightly at ease.

I'm disappointed.

Yet desperately hopeful.

It's uncanny how much a short run through the countryside can do for my soul.

This day was long. Stretching. Fraught with flexibility. It's been three weeks since we've had a normal camp in so housekeeping has been full of menial tasks that have been taxing to my spirit, one of them being carpet cleaning.

Apparently camp carpets are supposed to be on a four year cycle, meaning that every carpet in camp will get cleaned within the span of those four years. Our carpets haven't been cleaned in the 12 years that camp has been camp.

Cleaning carpets is demanding. It's arduous. It's filthy and it's faithfully full of tired muscles and droopy spirits. The past couple days us housekeepers have been on a carpet cleaning rotation and not one of us has anything good to say about it.

So here I am, trying to find God amidst the monotony of cleaning camper carpets.

And there He was. Sitting on a bunk bed hanging out with me while I pushed the awkwardly long metal vacuumy contraption back and forth, back and forth, back and forth, spewing and sucking, spewing and sucking, spewing and sucking, sucking the 12 years of pubescent footprints out of the rancid carpet.

You haven't lived until you've reached into a two foot deep metal bin full of carpet scum, armed with nothing but a frail trash bag wrapped around your twitching fingers. Highlight of the day was reaching in to find that the bag wasn't all the way around my hand. Direct skin to scum contact. I freaked. And then I laughed to keep from crying.

Perhaps God feels the same way when we beg Him to purify our hearts, to cleanse us of the sin we so easily get entangled in. Direct skin to scum contact. That's got to be hazardous.

My brisk four mile run today was everything I needed to reboot this overworked system of mine. As I crested a final hill before I was to head back home, I was catapulted into this dreamscape. I shouted and threw my hands in the air at the sight. There it was, a pristine pallet of purples and pinks with subtle hues of blue. The skies here are unlike any I've ever seen. A Brady bunch of deer frolicked across my path, bounding up the hillside. Birds fraternized in the nearby foliage.

Then amidst the majesty, I got to thinking about colors. God created colors for us to delight in. We had nothing to do with it. I think of Crayola crayons and the ingenious names they carry, and I think...God created all those myriad of shades, tints, tones. He did that. He imagined that. He brought it into being so that we might delight in it.

And then I'm reminded of the times and places in my life where I've neglected to see the Lord, neglected to seek Him, to pursue Him, to invite Him in. And I am shamed. This God who makes direct skin to scum contact on a daily basis, this God who creates such color to stimulate our eyes in supernatural ways, wants to be in every part of my life. In every part of your life.

So God I invite you into the qualms I feel about this weekend, this wedding.

I have my first gig on Saturday. I'm shooting a wedding. Not with a gun, with a camera. And I'm terrified. I'm so very scared that I'm going to miss the most pivotal moments, that I'm going to break the camera, that I'm going to fall off the roof trying to get the best footage. God give me courage. Guide my eyes. Keep me safe. You've invited me into this opportunity, please come alongside me. Take my hand, fingers laced, and comfort my trembling heart.

It's gonna be good. I know it is. I just know it. Help me to believe it.

I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me.

Right?