Table Rock

(Since I decided that this is Throwback Tuesday... this is from a couple of years ago. I went on a hike really JUST to write a blog post about it, but it turned out to be amazing and memorable apart from the writing experience. Last week, I went to Jones Gap- a park similar to and close to Table Rock- with friends, but I can't concentrate, and write, when I'm trying to keep up and/ or keep up a conversation with people- although it was fun in its own way. I  think I'll do this again, soon... just like that time... I'll tell you about it...)

I really like art. And that's why I'm here at this gallery.

The best part is, the Artist is here with me and He's giving me the tour. He's saying, See the sunlight on those leaves turning them into a thousand shades of green and white and brown? I didn't have to clean my brush and dip it back into my palette and mix the paint just right. I did all of this with my voice.

His work isn't signed. Some people deny the artist. This living color and light and the water pouring and pouring and blurring the surface of the rocks- it all just came to be by itself. Yeah. Of course it did.

But God still lets them into His gallery and His work is there for them to look at and it's self-explanatory. They're not taking the tour. Maybe one day they'll see His hand in it- books in the running brooks, sermons in stones.

It takes some effort to get through this gallery. I'm tramping up mud slippery rocks and then I get up this slope and there's a tree with woody scales overlapping and no two are the same and He fitted them together. He's the master sculptor.

I think if I'd done that, I would have made them a regular shape and pattern, consistent and boring and my tree wouldn't even compare to the rugged beauty of His.

There's a pile of black leaves, beaten down by rain and there's bright green ones springing out of them, perfect in the traditional shape of teardrops. See, my tour guide says, my art is forever changing and renews itself and I don't need a custodian.

And I'm not looking in between at wallpaper and carpet and tables, just more and more and more living art and it goes on forever. No one, no one could think all of this up except for Him.

I can tell I've reached the top, it's open and easier to walk and then suddenly I'm on the sloping face of a huge rock and I realize that I've only walked through a tiny, tiny hallway in His gallery.

Mountain line-up, so far in the distance that I can't see the trees and boulders and creeks but I know they must be there. Gently curving line of the softest gray. More curves, and more and more like the waves of a motionless ocean.

I'm wondering why God poured out His creative energy and power into this place. There's no one here to see it right now except me. I've been hiking for hours, so I know.

He did it because He could. He did it because He is great. He did it because He doesn't need to impress anyone and He doesn't need our accolades.

Like the ocean full of intricate and amazing creatures living so deep that no human eye will ever see. Sometimes He paints and sculpts and.. really just speaks beauty into existence.. just because.

There's an eagle floating in circles above me, wings outstretched, and I think he's enjoying the view too. And there's a little mud colored toad who has no clue about it. I touch him with one finger and his skin is softer than I expected and I tell him that even he is a credit to his creator.

I wish I could describe all this with words or even photos. It's kind of like going to Vatican City to the Sistine Chapel and doing a few quick sketches with a pencil and then when you take it back you expect people to appreciate it the way you did.

His artwork is beautiful. He doesn't need me or anyone else to tell Him so. But I think He does like hearing it.