Laughter of children sparked by chipmunks made me smile. I had hardly noticed the four-legged critters, as a vast expanse filled my heart with wonder (see video). Creation is like that—a kaleidoscope of beauty that changes with each turn, and with abundant interest for every age.
The Treasure: Let the power of God in creation take our breath away, open us up to receive His generosity, and remind us to set our hope in Him.
If you’d rather read than watch the video, here’s the full video transcript:
I’m at 9600 feet on the Beartooth Highway in Montana. I’m in this beautiful spot overlooking incredible mountains and valleys. But the children up here don’t even see the mountains. Do you know why? They are looking right down here at these little holes where the chipmunks come out. The chipmunks come out and they get up and they scurry along, and they’re just watching the chipmunks, so excited. But they’re missing the beautiful view.
Well, reality is, I have chipmunks in my life too—things like pride, worry, and performance that scurry around and pull my attention away from what’s important. These critters narrow my vision to the amazing scope of God’s power and the grand scale of what He is doing. But the writer of Psalm 121 invites us to lift our eyes to the hills and let creation remind us that our help comes from God who made all of it. How stunning to know our Creator never slumbers as He watches over us.
In her book, Invitation to Retreat, Ruth Haley Barton defines retreat as a “strategic withdrawal” from whatever is not working in our lives—to “gain perspective and set new strategies.”1 Last week I drove my Jeep in search of “someplace quiet” and pulled off at the sign to a monastery pictured above. A sign on the door welcomed “dear friends who wish to enter in silence.” So, I considered myself to be a “dear friend”, and sat in the solitude of that place for over an hour. For decades I have found solitary places for reflection at the end of each calendar year. There, I gain perspective by remembering God’s faithfulness in the past, and I seek new strategies for wholehearted living in the future. Don’t be misled. I am not ultra spiritual. That’s why I need times of reorientation. The value of “retreat” is this: there is an unseen battle for our allegiance where the busyness of life, culture, and expectations of others (and self) make for weary travelling. But in times of strategic withdrawal we remember that taking God’s hand at the gate of the year is better than light and safer than a known way. This is beautifully written in a poem by Minnie Louise Haskins (see video clip).
The Treasure: “In all your ways acknowledge Him, and He shall direct your paths.” (Proverbs 3:6, NKJV)
If you’d rather read than watch the video, here’s the full video transcript:
Greetings from Montana. I certainly have left Pilgrim, the camper, back in Virginia in that locked in paddock but I’ve gone beyond the fence and I’m actually way off the beaten path today hiking a trail south of Livingston, Montana. It’s beautiful here; it’s cold. There’s actually snow on the trail – and I just wanted to pipe in and remember at the beginning of the year this great saying called The Gate of the Year. It goes like this:
And I said to the man that stood at the gate of the year, “Give me a light that I may travel safely into the unknown.” And he said, “Go out into the dark and put your hand into the hand into the hand of God. That shall be better to you than light and safer than a known way.”
Well, when we get off the beaten path like I am today, sometimes it can be a great place of reorientation, of reflection, of seeing where the real path for our lives is going to lead. So I encourage you at the beginning of the year (with me as well); we don’t know what lies ahead but we know we have a great God who says, “You don’t need to get stuck looking back at things in the past. Learn from them … but look! Don’t you see? I’m doing a new thing. Don’t you perceive it?” So, I hope you find many new things that are wonderful and match the beauty of the Creator who created all of this. Happy New Year to you.
I didn’t expect the empty feeling that came over me as Christmas approached two years ago. It was my second Christmas without Steve. I knew I wanted to stay in town in order to participate in holiday festivities with my family, friends, and faith community, but the “gray” feel of home inspired me to plan something different. So I reserved a campsite seven miles away to experience a “Pilgrim’s Christmas” in a primo spot on the river. Sorrow came with me, but the waterfront view combined with cozy warmth in my teardrop camper added a dimension of color that helped me breathe into the beauty of what Christmas means.
Holidays can be both delightful and difficult. If you’re experiencing the pain of loss or the loneliness of unfulfilled dreams, perhaps a small change for the holidays can be helpful. In the two-year-old video (below) I changed my location and invited my heartier friends and family for hot chocolate and fireside chats. I ordered a box of books to give each one a gift. It wasn’t easy … until I got there. Then my new surroundings took my eyes off of myself and gave my heart a boost of joy, even though you’ll notice my “Merry Christmas” at the end sounds a bit dull.
Whether your teardrop represents the image of a fun camper or the reality of sadness, I pray that God will be your comfort, make you aware of His presence, and bring unexpected blessing to you this holiday season.
The Treasure: “Behold, I am doing a new thing; now it springs forth, do you not perceive it?” (Isaiah 43:19)
If you’d rather read than watch the video, here’s the full video transcript:
Quite a beautiful spot for camping this Christmas. I found this branch down on a trail by the beach. My friend Cheryl and I decorated it. It’s looking pretty nice around here; I’m doing familiar things in different ways. Pilgrim’s quite a girl. Beautiful! There was a cold wind last night and I was as warm as could be. Yeah. It’s a beautiful spot on the river with a fire, a flag that says, “my happy place,” and a centerpiece my friend Marlene made. She’s the one who made the memory quilt with Steve’s shirts. This is a great place; I have friends coming down and bringing pizza for supper. I’m enjoying a nice spot. Last night I was not quite settled. But tonight I feel like my heart is settling into this kind of new experience. Looking forward to six more days. Merry Christmas everyone.
I remember the day I pronounced the greatest complement about my favorite person, and how it became my earliest memory of embarrassment. I said, “I love Aunt Mable because she’s simple.” Being in my single-digit years, I experienced this countryside woman as welcoming and uncomplicated. Nothing seemed to rattle her, and I felt the hospitality of her heart that made me relax in her presence. The beauty of her character inspired me. Plus, she played old hymns on her violin and made the best homemade waffles when I visited my cousins on weekends.
But when I made that statement about loving to be with my simple aunt, the adults in the room missed the innocence of my statement and burst into laughter. They exposed the opposite of what I meant. They said that simple meant “simpleton” or someone who is stupid, who lacks intelligence or has no common sense. In retrospect I suppose it was quite a funny statement to make (and it became a joke in years to come), but my love for my aunt with the hospitable heart makes me take pause and smile today.
I still value a simple life—simple as in uncomplicated, relaxed, and uncluttered by thoughts or too much stuff. It seems out of reach in the busyness of (even) a good life. But as another Thanksgiving passes, I feel the tug to slow down, breathe, and become that “simple” presence that inspired me as a child.
The Treasure: Kindness, a word of encouragement, a quiet faith, or fellowship around homemade waffles may influence a child or change the trajectory of a life.
If you’d rather read than watch the video, here’s the full video transcript:
The earliest memory I have of my aunt is the day she put me on the back of her old horse named Fury, and we rode down to the blueberry patch on her one hundred acres of land in New England and had lunch there—blueberry muffins and a sweet time together. I’m thinking about Aunt Mabel today because I actually need someone to inspire me. I think I need a little encouragement, so I’m walking a trail remembering her—how she lived as a woman, as a widow, as a mom, as my Aunt Mabel. She was a devout woman of God; she loved her family; she loved me. The thing about her that I remember often is that she befriended people who didn’t have friends, and everyone felt welcome at her table. I loved sitting with her and hearing her. One day she sent me a card that said, “Some people walk by faith … with you it looks more like dancing.” I don’t feel like that’s true of me today, but it still inspires me to take the next step, to keep going beyond the fence where Pilgrim is. That’s what she did. She travelled, she revisited old relationships, dealt with difficulties in her life, in her family, and encouraged people greatly. So, I am looking back—looking with gratitude that there are people who inspire me along the way to live and love well.
I love New England. I grew up in a town called North Stonington, CT, just a few miles from Mystic Seaport on the Mystic River pictured above. I enjoy calming places within reach to catch my breath from the un-beautiful moments of life—moments that require me to wait for answers or understanding. Here’s an excerpt from my journal during a time that the wait felt long: I prefer my days to move forward like clockwork—a sure formula that trust and obedience breed the bounty of safety, health, and ease. But I cannot contain God to my favorite Scriptures. Nor can I dance as a model of victory over trouble—an icon of His favor. Sometimes I don’t quite like my conclusion. But my history with God shows that I would be a fool to trade one moment of waiting on Him, for quick self-serving answers where I refuse to listen for His voice or tap into His love.
We never know when a moment will take our breath away or when another one will knock the breath out of us. If we take strategic measures to set our hearts on pilgrimage with God, we can come through valleys with a different kind of strength than we went in. Check out the video below to consider two kinds of moments.
The Treasure: “If you are walking in darkness, without a ray of light, trust in the Lord and rely on your God.” (Isaiah 50:10 TNLT)
If you’d rather read than watch the video, here’s the full video transcript:
Some moments take our breath away; other moments knock the breath out of us.
Moments of awe take our breath away.
Moments of trauma knock the breath out of us.
I’m here in New England because our family just faced some moments that knocked the breath out of us with a stroke, a brain surgery, and a sudden traumatic death. In each of these events, we were scared, we prayed, and we were scared again.
Moments of trouble and trauma that send us into a valley remind us that we are not in control. In every valley there’s an undetermined distance between sorrow and joy, between crisis and calm. And although these valleys can feel like heaven’s halt, they’re also an invitation to take a pilgrimage with God.
Ancient musicians of the temple in biblical times of wrote songs about this kind of pilgrimage. My favorite one goes like this:
“Blessed are those whose strength is in God, who have set their hearts on pilgrimage. As they pass through the valley of weeping, they make it a place of springs.”
One week after entering our family valley, life looks like this: The brain surgery was successful, and we rejoice; the stroke victim works hard to swallow again and we pray; survivors of the tragic death mourn their loss, and we walk beside them.
Joy and sorrow follow us all through our lives. In times of sorrow in valleys of weeping, how have you experienced tears becoming springs?
If you or someone you know are in a valley of weeping, my first book that’s available now for preorder may be helpful. It’s called, Rediscover the Dance, Rising faith in the aftermath of trauma. You can check it out on my website: dawnlinton.com.
Meanwhile, whether you’re in a valley or just coming out of one, let’s put our strength in God and set our hearts on pilgrimage so we come through future valleys stronger than we go in.
In my chaplain work with law enforcement I sometimes ride with officers to connect and to learn how to serve them better. You’ll hear in the video (below) that fear of going a greater distance with “Pilgrim” to meet them almost robbed me of opportunity. My inner spirit said, “I don’t want to.” But, God’s Spirit said, “Don’t miss it.”
Here’s a reflection from my journal—clips of reality at the river.
Space; alone … but not really; setting up camp; feet in the river; sunset; geese flying; brilliant black; unaware of how aware God is; rest. Sunrise; life in full color; oatmeal; peace; curious; creaking gate; police vehicle; time to ride; time to listen; time to learn; time to return; thank you.
Another night; me and the teardrop, specks in a spacious place; solitude; peace; sacred; alone … but not really; more sovereign handiwork; galaxies; (“Steve, you would love this.”) fireside; pause; gratitude; prayer; wonder; joy; worship; rest; orange art in the sky; “Good morning.”
We can pray that beautiful places will continually lift our eyes to the Creator who gives us courage to say “yes” to new opportunity.
The Treasure: “For I am the LORD your God who takes hold of your right hand and says to you, Do not fear; I will help you.” (Isaiah 41:13 NIV)
If you’d rather read than watch the video, here’s the full video transcript:
(Geese flying … honking) I must admit – fear is a common struggle that I have. Pilgrim and I have just taken our longest trip. We’ve come from Williamsburg down to Fries, Virginia which is near Galax. With the camper it took me six hours. It’s an invitation by a law enforcement officer to come to the New River Wildlife Conservation Club and to camp on their land here. There’s only me—there’s nobody else around. It really is beautiful. Last night was my first night here and I slept for nine hours. I think that’s because I was really tired. But here’s Pilgrim in a primo spot; the sun is going down into a gentle sunset on the New River. So, we remember that we can stay within the fence where Pilgrim lives at home or we can go beyond the fence. Pilgrim represents courage to go beyond fear and loss so that we don’t shrink our lives. I must say my life is not shrinking; it’s expanding into a spacious place. But I was afraid to come. I even, for a moment, didn’t want to come. It felt too big, too far, too different; I didn’t even know where I would be parked; I just knew it was going to be in an isolated spot. But oh the blessing of going beyond the fence when it’s time. It’s not always time to go beyond the fence. I wanted to share this beautiful moment with you. Wish you could be here.
On the Beartooth Highway through the Northern Rockies in Montana this summer, I drove switchbacks to the top. Have you ever been in such a secluded place that you could almost hear the silence? That’s what happened that day, but the place I felt most alone from people became the place I felt most connected to God. In that vast expanse that seemed to have no end, I felt like a “speck.” It’s not so bad being a speck as long as we know in our heart of hearts that we are significant specks to the Creator, who fills the whole earth with awe at His wonders and calls forth songs of joy. (Psalm 65:8) You can hear the awe in my voice in the video below. (Don’t worry, I’m not singing). But perhaps you’ll remember the tune when you hear the words. With all that God gets to enjoy in His handiwork, He is constantly caring for us, the significant specks that He delights to watch and bless and forgive … and crown with honor. (Psalm 8:5 NIV)
The Treasure: “When I consider your heavens, the work of your fingers, the moon and the stars, which you have set in place, what is mankind that you are mindful of them, human beings that you care for them?” (Psalm 8:3-4, NIV)
If you’d rather read than watch the video, here’s the full video transcript:
I just came across a beautiful path on the Beartooth Highway … and decided to stop. It is beautiful everywhere; I just can’t help but take it in. I feel like I’m playing in God’s playground, taking time away from everything that can call—time to be with Him and to listen and to just really enjoy. There was a song I used to sing as a kid and it goes like this: “He owns the cattle on a thousand hills, the wealth in every mine. He owns the rivers and the rocks and rills, the sun and stars that shine. Wonderful riches more than tongue can tell; He is my Father so they’re mine as well. He owns the cattle on a thousand hills; I know that He will care for me.”
I’m going to take a short walk, mainly because my family gets nervous when I’m in desolate places. At least some of them do, but this is too beautiful to pass up … besides, I have my bear spray.
You may remember from the video on my blog home page, that three years ago, Pilgrim and I had never ventured outside of the fence. The video you’re about to watch (below) took place during those early days when grief threatened to fill me with despair. My pastor, Travis Simone, came to give a blessing to me and the camper to help set our momentum. I admit the idea of blessing a camper sounded a bit strange at first, but I love what he said so much that I want to pass the blessing on to you. It’s for all of us. We all have a key of promise that frees us from giants that seek to imprison us in Doubting Castle. I felt as hot and haggard as I looked on that steamy summer day, but Travis’s words continue to give me courage when fear tempts me to despair. Please watch the five minute video and receive this powerful blessing as your own.
The Treasure: “The eternal God is your refuge, and underneath are the everlasting arms.” (Deuteronomy 33:27)
When my husband Steve died, I looked out toward a vast, empty horizon. It was neither dark nor light—just empty and wide. I would come to realize that Steve’s death gave me the kind of freedom that I never wanted … but freedom nonetheless. And so, this summer I went to Montana for a whole month to be with my fast-growing Montana grands and their parents. I stayed half the time in a VRBO. It was a really great plan, except for the hard parts. If you are living in the aftermath of loss, you know that you can feel full of joy one moment, and hollowed out from loneliness the next. In Traveling Light, Eugene Peterson normalizes the “pain of being human” and those “moments of emptiness and waiting.” His words reassure me. He also inspires his readers to never “abandon the awesome silence of worship.” Alone in a Montana mountain town, I captured a moment of balance between the emptiness of solitude and the silent worship of God under His vast blue sky (see video).
The Treasure: “Since the creation of the world, God’s invisible qualities—his eternal power and divine nature—have been clearly seen, being understood from what has been made.” (Romans 1:20 NIV)
If you’d rather read than watch the video, here’s the full video transcript:
It’s a great way to start the day here at Red Lodge, Montana at Wild Bill’s Cabin in a hot tub on a 57degree crisp, cool morning. Beautiful blue sky. I’m remembering the introduction to my blog series, where Pilgrim and I are inside the fence and we haven’t gone anywhere because I’m afraid to go anywhere because everything’s changed in my life. And Pilgrim, the camper, represents courage to go beyond fear and loss so that we don’t shrink our lives. Well, when I was getting ready to come up here to Red Lodge, one hour and a half from my family’s home here in Montana, I felt really empty, saying to myself, “What the heck are you doing?” It was hard to come away. It was a little … not scary, but a little unsure. But oh my gosh, I have been on a hike, I’ve seen beautiful sights. When we do familiar things in different ways, there are treasures along the way. So, as you go along your way, maybe life has made a big change for you too … you may not be in a hot tub at Wild Bill’s Cabin, but there will be other things that you do where you take risk, so you don’t shrink your life either.
I met a woman who lost everything. The tree took down an electrical line that set fire to her log home on a mountain lane. Only she and her pets escaped. I had the privilege of meeting this seventy-nine-year-old widow in a motel lobby where she works to rebuild her life.
The resilience in her voice and her gratitude for the outpouring of comfort and support in her community made me take pause for the next hour and listen. Then she locked her eyes with mine and said, “Maybe starting all over ain’t so bad after all.”
My new friend is choosing to find the riches within her suffering. Dr. Robert Grant writes:
“All [victims] must come to accept that life involves a series of losses that have the potential to hollow them out [missing their inherent] riches … [becoming] detached critics rather than vital participants in life.”1
We might not be able to say, “Maybe starting over ain’t so bad after all.” But God’s promise to watch over us and to never sleep (Psalm 121) can inspire us to participate fully in life (see video).
1 Robert Grant PhD, The Way of the Wound, (Oakland: copyright by Robert Grant 1996),
The Treasure: Our help comes from the Maker of heaven and earth who never slumbers.
If you’d rather read than watch the video, here’s the full video transcript:
The day is settling down; you can hear the birds, and I’m looking out to the mountains. I’m in Orange, Virginia and I’ll be picking up Pilgrim in the morning and taking her back home with her new air conditioner. It’s so beautiful here! I love the sky; I love what it means…such a great Creator that we have. And I love that He’s awake all the time. The sun may sleep and hopefully we sleep but I love that He never sleeps. Psalm 121 says, “I lift up my eyes to the hills. Where does my help come from? My help comes from the Lord, the Maker of heaven and earth. He will not let your foot slip. Indeed, he who watches over you will not slumber nor sleep. The Lord watches over you.” It says, “He will watch over your life. He will watch over your coming and going both now and forever. That’s what I think of when I see the mountains … well, that’s not all I think of. Sometimes I think about how I want to be in them and walk trails in them. but for tonight I’m at this very economical hotel called Round Hill Inn, in Orange—$120.00 total for the night. It’s really a sweet spot. It’s time for a few laps in the pool. Wish you could be here with me, but there’s no one in the pool right now.
