I breathe deeply out here. Lots of turned-under fields. Lots of bare trees. Lots of wide open spaces and reflecting lakes. I like space. It’s easier for me to think with wider margins. Not so easy surrounded—tightly—in clutter. Mentally, I know God works in both places, but I breathe in and out more freely with Him here. More in rhythm, without the closed-in pressure of other life stuff.
Our environments affect us in different ways, some intentionally, some not. I got a lesson Sunday about life in rural Iowa from some natives... No fire ants. No termites. Corn fields don’t have to be picked in the summer. Schools in the county close quicker for snow than in the city (it’s all relative—no schools close for less than 6”). The men can negotiate tight turns in snowy driveways in 4-wheel-drive trucks with trailers with minimal back and forth moves. More beards. More gloves. More cars with rust.
And lots of open space.
Where’s my space? While I can’t manufacture open fields around my house or create flyways for migrating geese so every time I look up I see a flock, I can reduce the clutter where I live. It’s a job I work often. Prioritize. Discern. Let go. Consciously and prayerfully, I trade and negotiate this and that to keep open space in my life. Sometimes successfully; sometimes not.
I don’t want to miss anything that God wants to teach me because I’m too buried in the noise of the clatter and clutter of life. So now and again, remind me with a big empty sky with a million stars that I breathe better when God has room to move around.
