“He got into a boat and his disciples followed him.  Suddenly a violent storm came up on the sea, so that the boat was being swamped by waves; but he was asleep. They came and woke him, saying “Lord, save us! We are perishing!  He said to them, “Why are you terrified, O you of little faith?”  Then he got up, rebuked the winds and the sea, and there was great calm.  The men were amazed and said, “What sort of man is this, whom even the winds and the sea obey?” –Matthew 8:23-26

The theme for the retreat I went on this weekend was “Calm in the Storm.” It was run through the graduates and young professionals group at my alma mater, and the theme was one that everyone could relate to. For my part, I am currently struggling with several different storms, running the gamut from rainstorms to tornadoes, but the most pressing of which is my current employment status (or, rather, lack thereof). Most of my storms are internal, and while I often exert a great deal of effort to epitomize Lake Placid on the surface, beneath the surface often lies a cyclone. So much of my attention goes to calming myself for others that the notion of calming the innermost storms for myself usually gets neglected.

During some downtime over the weekend, I went on a walk through the woods surrounding the retreat house. I love the woods and I love autumn, and since both have a very visceral connection to God for me, it was a wonderful opportunity for me to reflect. As I was walking alone through the leaf-laden path, threadbare trees and the crunching of the leaves my only company, my mind wandered to a painting—one of the few that ever made its ways onto our walls—that graced the walls of my childhood home. The painting used to be at the very top of our stairs when I was very little. It then made its way down to our first floor and was hung in the main hallway across from the restroom. I believe it is now, for whatever reason, on the floor of our living room, gathering dust and leaning against the wall.

The painting is of a deer, alone, standing by a lake that is surrounded by woods on all sides. I don’t know who the artist is, but it has a sort of Albert Bierstadt feel to it. The deer is towards the bottom right of the painting in a small clearing. The lake is calm, the woods are calm, the deer is calm. The entire painting gives a tone of somber tranquility.

There wasn’t a lake by the woods I was in—there was a retreat house, but that building housed the source that quenched my thirst, just as the lake did for the deer. It wasn’t a perfect analogy, but it worked. I kept imagining myself as that deer, weathering the hidden threats of the forest bravely in spite of the anxious energy within me. I trusted that the healing power of that water would give me the strength I needed to overcome any threat or problem.

You know, I’m God’s Child, Hear Me Roar. Except whatever it is deer do, but more viciously.

It was just the forest and me. It was serenity at its best. I had always been intrigued with that painting as a child, but it wasn’t until this weekend that it took on a meaningful significance to me. I understood how the Water of Life, sustaining as it is, can blur the threats, the obstacles, the anxieties, and the fears. It didn’t matter what was lurking in the darkness of the forest; all that mattered what was what was contained within the lake. That water, and all the many things it embodies, was enough, enough to eclipse all else.

[To be continued...]