in every forest

Today the kids and I drove over to clearwater to swim in the gulf. I-4 thru Tampa looks and feels like it's been bombed out and a bulldozer has come through and cleared a single lane in the rubble for precisely 100 million cars a day to pass through on the way to the airport and the causeway across the bay.
but I exaggerate...
Just as I was about to come to the end of I-4, I got a phone call from Austin and somehow, who knows?, I ended up sitting in a parking lot on the west side of Clearwater ready to climb out and into the Gulf of Mexico. The phone call was just what I needed. How do you do that gwill? I've missed your calls before and merely a message or an appearance on my callerID, has been a boost to my moment. Today I got a complete conversation with gorgeous scenery.
But I digress...
While I was hanging out in 4 feet of salt water and Molly was hanging on me and the boys were swimming all around and between my knees... I was thinking about yesterday's sunshine rain thing. Now we've all, at some time or another, experienced a shower, or even a storm, while the sun shone down from the periphery. But this is usually momentary, just as the storm approaches or as it is moving away. But a constant barrage of storm for hours, while the sun beats down? This is odd. Sure at any given time, some are experiencing a storm and others, a sunny day. That's not odd. But the same guy, at the same time? For this you have to see the big picture. I've never lived anywhere that I could see weather beyond what I was experiencing. If there is a storm overhead, that's all there is. Who knows what's on the other side of the hill?
Last August, the fam and I stood atop the Devil's Courthouse along the Blue Ridge Parkway west of Asheville. We climbed up there in the rain on a chilly August evening. Spits of sleet tingled on our skin as we reached the top. From here, at 5,720 feet, one can see 360 degrees into North Carolina, South Carolina, Georgia, and Tennessee. Far below, and for miles, are the peaks of mountains. We saw fog, rain, lightning, blue skies and sunset from up there. Big picture. Its all going on. At the same time. That's life. Will stood there with icy rain hitting his face and said, "dad, I've never felt so close to God." Half frozen, exhausted, but with a clear view of the big picture. You can see how Good He is. It wasn't a topographical experience, it was a big picture experience.
That Georgia to Orlando storm was a big picture experience. Weather. Two extremes. Simultaneously. This is how it always is. If you don't feel the rain during your "good times", you're in denial of the storms. If you don't feel the sunshine during the storms, you deny hope. That's what I was talking about in my hope post the other day.

Maybe that's why weather comes up so often for me. Weather seems like a much better metaphor for my life/walk than any topographical description I've heard. The highs and lows, mountains and valleys. Those just don't cut it for me. As if I'm either up or down, or even if I'm halfway up, I'm either up or down. I admit that I usually behave that way. Up or down. But deep down inside, somewhere, I know that both exist, at the same time. I know that even Jesus experienced it when for the joy set before Him he endured the cross. I know, but don't understand how it pleased the Father to bruise His Son. But, I believe that what pleased the Father was the same joy that was set before the Son. That's enough weirdness to cause me to seek, and embrace the big picture. Most often, I can't see the forest for the trees, and its at those times I see the snake rather than the apple of my eye.