Awed into Silence- Look, See, Pray

Yes! I won a prize.  A photographic company invited readers of their Facebook page to submit pictures of their “adventures.” I had a go.

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Imagine my surprise when I had a message to say they liked the photo and had awarded me a £30 voucher to use against their services. OK, not earth-shattering, but an unexpected joy. My winning photo was taken in the Austrian Tyrol, one of the loveliest places I have visited.

One drawback- the prize had to be used in a couple of days.

Let the hunt begin! I decided to put a canvas print on my study wall.  When you take as many photos as I do, there’s a lot of choice. So I tried out several favourites, and had a go at editing and printing a shortlist.

The final choice came down to a memory.

We spent an amazing holiday in 2016 going from Vancouver up the Inside Passage of Alaska. Everything was stunningly beautiful, but one place was extra-special. We entered Glacier Bay and as we arrived the rain stopped- to unveil the majesty of the Marjorie Glacier. I was awed into silence. Awesome colour in the ice, eagles resting on ice floes, and almost complete silence.235Glcr Bay July16 re_edit

Few places have left me silent, awestruck and overcome. This was the most profound quiet: it seemed wrong to make noise.

Look closely at the foreground. Two bright red canoeists bravely exploring- and their size gives a clue as to the immensity of the ice sheet.

This is the photo that will be seen every time I enter or leave my study.  It reminds me of awe. It also reminds me to be concerned with the changing climate: we watched three “calving” moments where tons of ice splintered and crashed into the waiting sea. These glaciers are shrinking alarmingly quickly: the next generation may not be able to see these mighty glaciers. They are melting away and threaten sea-level rises that will impact on the globe.

God gave humanity a responsibility: to care for the Earth and everything in it. What will we say when the Lord asks us how well we did our work?

Looking at this photo can only give an impression of awesomeness. Perhaps, though, we can also look in our hearts to find memories of moment when awe closed our mouths and opened our spirits to the Eternal.

May holy awe touch your life. Thanks for reading.

 

Another point of view…

Another point of view… seeing the prayer on the top of the breakwater.

Lord, that wooden post has been there years. Every day the sea floods it, covers it, bashes it and abandons it. What kind of life is that?

Barnacles, seaweed, a limpet or two. Nobody pays attention unless they happen to scrape their leg on it! What kind of life is that?

Seagulls stand on it, crabs walk round it. Dogs pee over it after chasing the seagulls away. Waves crash into it. What kind of life is that?

Resistance is futile, says the sea- we will assimilate you.
Not while I’m standing, says the post. I’ll break your waves!

Looking down from above, the photographer sees form, shape, and colour. The stubbornness of not giving in. A post with a purpose, a duty to fulfill. A home for tiny creatures with tiny urges of their own, just as stubborn as the post and clinging to life with all its trials.

I wonder if I looked at other people from a different point of view… what would I see? The stolid patience of daily living, the refusal to be battered into submission, still clinging to life and hope- knowing storms come and storms go.

Would I care, or notice, or walk away? What kind of life is that?

Lord, if you looked down on my life, what would you see?
“What kind of life is that?” says the angel, looking askance.

“A life with a purpose, and someone I love” says the Word who spoke Life to the world.

I guess we do matter, after all.