Just off the shore of Little Hanging Horn Lake, rests a row of kayaks. I am here on a three-day retreat with a small group of strangers to
rejuvenate and
rediscover. The lake is empty, yet filled to the brim with the previous day's rains. I have two hours to myself following an invigorating morning of discussion and reflection. The kayaks look inviting. After inquiring in the front office of the resort as to where the life jackets are, I inch my way down the slope behind the main lodge. Selecting a life jacket that's suitable I zip it up and cinch it tight around my torso. All of the kayaks are wet save one, so that's the one I take. With my oar in hand, I drag the small vessel into the water that awaits.
Almost immediately I'm a bit disappointed that I hadn't followed my intuition and unzipped the bottom of my black dry vent pants before heading to the lake. As I paddle side to side, dipping and swinging, droplets of water splash from my oars and begin to soak my pants. Determined to enjoy my kayak in spite of the wetness, I shrug my shoulders ever so slightly, rest my oar across the kayak, and roll up my pant legs. Picking up my oar once more and orienting the kayak northwest, toward the lily pads, I promise myself I'll bring a camera out next time. Of course, there won't be a next time, at least not on this retreat. But no matter, my clarity of mind on this particular afternoon holds the memory securely.
Floating leaves and perfectly imperfect white water lilies and yellow water lilies are dispersed throughout the algae and lily pads. After lingering a bit and implanting their image in my mind, I turn the kayak and begin paddling toward the land mass in the middle of this small lake. It looks like an island, but something tells me it's not. Again, my intuition is correct and will later be confirmed by a fellow retreat goer who tries the impossible later that weekend and finds herself unable to paddle all the way around this island-looking peninsula.
As I paddle on, the water remains a sheet of calm, though the wind has picked up a bit. There is still not another soul on the water. I decide to stop just shy of going all the way to the center of the lake. I lift my oar and rest it across my lap. I close my eyes with the giddiness of a child doing something for no other reason than that it feels good. With eyes closed, my other senses come alive. I listen and let the wind move my kayak. Gently, I sense I'm starting to spin. When it feels as if I've spun a full circle, I open my eyes. The winds still swish lightly through my hair, no longer spinning my kayak like a compass seeking true north. I expect to see the same center stretch of land when I open my eyes, but instead I am a quarter of a turn off. Or am I dead on?
The forest before me looks dark, ominous, and unpredictable. Or maybe dark, wooded, and secluded are better descriptors. Perhaps lush, green, and alive? Curious, I paddle forward. Just moments before, when I had closed my eyes, I said to myself that I would go wherever this spirit wind led me. Now, slowly nearing this shore of the unknown, I see her first with my eyes. Then I hear her startled movements backing up the hill, hooves rustling over twigs and grass. I slow my strokes, just grazing the water now and she slows too. So once more, I lift my paddles, steady my kayak and slow my breathing. I want to linger a bit and watch this beautiful spotted fawn. I want to commune with her. The fawn calms with an awareness that I am not a threat. She stays and continues eating, hidden in part by the trunk of a tree. And I keep gliding, a peaceful observer, who has found what she was seeking.
For I had prayed to see God's face when I closed my eyes and let the wind take the helm. I had no idea how or if He would actually reveal Himself, but I had asked anyway. He heard and fixed my on this beautiful young fawn. Both in her and in the forest before me I can see now that this place is full of life. It is lush, green, young, and hungry. I can see Him and I can see myself clearly. That which was once startled is no longer unafraid.
