Healing in the Cabin

“Prayer is the voluntary realization that we need God...”

​My husband said it to me as we drove toward our dinner reservation one night a few weeks back.  I quickly jotted it down securing it safely like a gem in my pocket.  And I’m glad I did.  

I do not think I have a limit on the amount of beauty my eyes can take in, so when I find it, I can’t help but chase after it.  It was nearing 10pm one night as I slipped on my coat and the biggest boots I could find to fit over my slipper socks. I had seen the stars from Simon’s bedroom window when I bent to kiss his head and tussle his hair one last time with my fingertips.  

The night was cold and clear. The stars seemed to be shivering with me, frozen in place, but understanding of the season, fully accepting of their given post.  

I stood with head tilted, puffs of breath visible and fitting of the winter air around me. 

“Adams race has done the harm, Adams race will help to heal it”.  Words from C.S. Lewis’, The Magician’s Nephew.  

I read the line two and then three times over sitting by the fire of our rented cabin.  It was too much truth for me to let slip in and out of my mind, I knew I had to keep it.  

We spent four days away from home in a log cabin filled with books and artwork and pottery pieces holding dried hydrangeas from someone else’s garden; a summer gone by.  We brought decks of cards for favorite games and stacks of books we wanted to finish, sweaters and all our favorite tea to last the days ahead.  Children scurried to their chosen bedrooms upon arrival and hung their clothes in empty closets and filled the drawers of wooden dressers.  

I sat for more hours than I can count reading by that fire.  I nearly finished two books and my teacup rarely went dry and I thought hard about being part of the healing this world so desperately needs.  

It’s nothing new to any of us how dreadfully hurting the inhabitants of earth already are.  I believe what we need more than the nightly news is a way through the darkness with healing in our hands and hope in our hearts.  We are, after all, Adams race on the other side of the harm done - we are the healing generation, the Jesus knowing people.   

The sun didn’t shine as much as I’d hoped those four days but nevertheless, we were together without any interruption.  We filled that little cabin with music and late-night dancing to old jazz rhythms left behind for our enjoyment, we played word games with our feet up on footstools, drank coffee with maple syrup and gobbled down plates of chocolate chip cookies by lamplight.  There were movies in bed and popcorn kernels strewn about, laughter (and correction by the minute, let's be real here), root beer floats and plenty of healthy meals were eaten too.  The kids learned to icefish on the pond and hiked miles into the forest with Andy while I quietly turned the pages of my book and scribbled out thoughts in my journal. 

For four days straight, time was endless, unchecked, ignored.  Our appetites determined the hour and the setting sun of course.  We healed together from a difficult year gone by and vowed to let it drift down river in our minds.  We didn't heal the world in some Michael Jackson sort of way - but we shifted the harm done by just being present and willing to settle into the moment and be still.  And sometimes that's the best medicine one can take.    

"Be still and know that I am God..."