I've been guilty (and still am at times) of getting caught up in capturing a quick photographic moment rather than looking at the bigger picture in the album of life. Quieting my mind and contemplating the more panoramic view isn't always easy, and I know I'm not alone here.
It's been our second fall season living on the East Coast. Nothing has been more breathtaking or awakened my soul like the scenic view of leaves changing colors. There were many days when nature beckoned me to come outside, to capture the beauty of God's creation — something I'd taken for granted for much of my adult life.
Fall has become bittersweet for me in the last few years, though. As the transformation of colors gives way to, what can be, the dreariness of winter, the withered leaves falling to the ground bring with it an emptiness that triggers my seasonal depression. While life may appear perfect on the outside, there are days when the internal battle paints a much different picture.
I know my situation is far from rare. And I know every situation is unique. But since moving to NB, being out in nature has been one of the best coping mechanisms. Not only that. Being out in nature has helped dampen the pandemic's effects on my overall well-being. It's why I wholeheartedly believe that discovering coping mechanisms is crucial in helping us span the gap to a brighter, more panoramic picture moving forward.
A few weeks ago, on a rainy, windy, dreary Sunday afternoon, I was lounging in my living room sipping coffee, transfixed on the densely wooded area in our backyard, amazed at how the natural world interacts.
Observing the insistent blustery winds sway the different types of trees back and forth, I pulled my warm, cozy blanket up to my chin, closed my eyes, and listened to the hypnotic sound of the rain and wind as my mind drifted back to what our lives were like pre-pandemic.
The trees are hugging one another tightly out there, without the barrier of social distancing, I thought. Before we were forced into lockdowns, before we were forced to social distance, we were part of the human forest. We were but another tree blowing in the wind, unmasked and unafraid to interact, for the most part, anyway.
I don't know about you, but I long to be a part of the human forest again. Even though I'm an introvert by nature, I miss the freedom of human connections.
Unfortunately, the pandemic has proven to span a few too many seasons for most of us, taking its toll on our positivity and patience. Truth be known. We all want our social lives back. Because to be together is inherently human, and besides, feeling less alone is always good for the soul.
I mean, even the biblical writer John preferred to meet face-to-face, without barriers or social distancing. "I have much to write to you, but I do not want to use paper and ink. Instead, I hope to visit you and talk with you face to face, so that our joy may be complete." ( 2 John 1:12).
I can imagine the face-to-face interactions John spoke of lifted the spirits of all who gathered.
And we, too, as believers, can take solace. Because whether we are shedding leaves of human struggles or embracing life's beauty, Christ, The Tree of Life, observes the more panoramic view. He observes our every tear and joyous moment; he molds us through all life seasons and assures us that the leaves of joy will return.
My prayer is that the pandemic will soon become a distant picture in the album of life, replaced by lessons learned, creating a more panoramic view of the human forest, where we are unmasked and unafraid to interact — with both stranger and friend alike — lifting one another as God intended, so that our joy may be complete in Him.
