This weekend I hit the Blue Ridge Parkway to see some colors. The roads winding upward were lined with an unreal assortment of yellows, reds, and oranges. Like going from black and white in the city to HD in the hills.
It was the perfect timing for that drive.
Up along the top of the Parkway, though, we saw trees in the distance that had lost something. Now brown and burnt orange. A week too late to have witnessed their former brilliance.
Ah, life. It’s all about timing. You’re either on time. Or you’re not.
Or sometimes both.
I’ve often felt (at least) five years behind the rest of humanity, whether in life experience or wisdom or what have you. Indeed, I’m experiencing and learning things in my early thirties I feel I should have already gained in my mid-twenties.
Steady counsel. Strong relationships. Some more obvious sense of home.
I also feel I’ve gained a lot in this same timeline of my life and don’t want to cut myself short. I’ve grown more in the last two years than the previous ten.
More than ever, I feel God’s hand guiding mine like pen strokes while chiseling my soul. A mystical also brutal process.
I love escaping to the Blue Ridge Mountains for the sheer beauty of it, but I also head there for the perspective. One place in particular I’ve discovered is called Fryingpan Tower, an old fire tower that gives you 360-degree views like no other.
I’ve decreed Fryingpan one of my three “sacred places” around the country where I’ve fled for solace, prayer, and clarity. Confidence.
I climbed Fryingpan Tower two and a half years ago ahead of quitting my job at a boarding school and jumping full-time into Your Other Brothers and personal writing projects. I’ve had financial setbacks and uncertainties galore these last two years, but I’ve never looked back.
For all that’s been accomplished since that summer of 2017, the blogs and podcasts and videos and retreats and conferences and travels and friendships and my second book, I can’t imagine not having made that decision to open myself up to more.
God’s been faithful. With every pen stroke and chisel.
The drive last weekend was prettier than the ultimate view, but that’s timing. That’s life.
Sometimes you’re on, and sometimes you’re off. Sometimes a little of both.
But you keep going. Whether you’re five years behind or one week late.
Because you climb the tower as autumn shifts for winter and realize there’s still beauty to behold. Such beauty in remembering how far you’ve come.
Seeing it with your own eyes. Climbing it with your own boots.
