Most beautiful 

I hate to go back on what I said about Connecticut, but I’ve decided that Maine is the most beautiful place in the world. 

Coffee for $2.50. 

Free motel coffee. 

The ocean spoke to me, as always, about God… It’s such a reflection of his attributes. Always the same, yet ever new. Unstoppable. 

…Man marks the earth with ruin–his control

Stops at the shore. Upon the watery plain, 

The deeds are all thine own, nor dust remain, 

A shadow of man’s ravage save his own, 

When for a moment like a drop of rain, 

He sinks into thy depths with bubbling groan. 

Without a grave, unknelled, un-coffined, and unknown. 

–Lord George Byron

And this… 

I suppose they put that sign there so they wouldn’t get sued. 
Although the path was a bit treacherous. 

But I doubt that sign stops anyone. Worthwhile paths are always frought with danger. 

Being born is unsafe. 

Being born again is unsafe. 

I bet the sign people knew that everyone would keep walking anyway. 

I don’t want to stay only on safe paths in life. Maybe there’s no such thing anyway, but I don’t want to make fear the deciding factor in what I do, which is so often a temptation. I want to climb life’s slippery rocks and thank God I have feet and get up when I slip. 

I’ve done a lot of slipping and falling, and I was reminded of this also on Thursday morning in Brooklyn. 

I got up early, after a wonderful night in the attic bedroom of my friends, packed my things (forgetting my soap) and headed out. It was 6am and I wanted to avoid traffic but as I walked down the streets, still surprisingly familiar after a decade, I had a determination to go find the graveyard. 

Thirteen years ago when I was in Brooklyn I was such an immature Christian, but my studies at Bible school had convinced me that a person needs to be deliberate about spending time with God. So in the midst of the busyness of volunteering and exploring Brooklyn and Manhattan, I sought out a place to go to pray and read Scripture. 

My hosts thought it would be okay for me to go to the graveyard, a quiet expanse of grass and identical white military markers. So in the mornings when the city people were snoozing, I walked there, trying to be faithful with my time but sometimes failing. 

So on this return trip years later, I hurried across the cement, past the light but noisy morning traffic, across the street, up a sidewalk. Where was it? I couldn’t remember. I finally asked two men with a dog, and they pointed behind me. 

I stood in the graveyard and it all came back, my efforts to reach out to God among these exact white grave markers in straight lines, and these trees 13 years older. There’s nothing like a graveyard to still be in the same place you left it. 

And I looked at it all and looked up, overwhelmed, thinking of my journey since then and how God has always taken care of me, despite some dreadful moments… Through the drama and heart ache and tears. And that, even though I was too immature to know what I was praying, seeking God is always a good choice because he will always meet us, even if it means a maze of brick walls. 

And that state of security, of conviction that God will never leave or fail or stop teaching me, is truly the most beautiful state on earth, making even Maine look ordinary.