Conversations on a swing

I have had some of my very best conversations while sitting on a swing. I think perhaps quality conversations are almost inevitable on a swing. And I had one of those awesome conversations today with my friend Sara. We were swinging in her yard in the beautiful afternoon light, with her dear grandson, Bradley. We've had some pretty wonderful conversations lately and more often than not, they seem to weave around the great big Why of life. And what better place for one of those conversations than sitting on a swing with a sleeping baby in your lap?

I have made a sincere effort the past couple of years to be more intentional in my conversations. It is amazing the quality of a conversation when you make an effort to be fully present. And it is even more amazing how God just shows His face, pulls up a chair and joins in on these conversations. As Sara and I wrapped up our conversation and I was pulling out of her driveway, I started wondering why some people choose to believe in God and some don't. Why some people need convincing, and some people just give themselves over. Why some people have to walk an aisle several times because they are never quite convinced they've accepted saving grace, and some people can stand in a field or on a mountain watching a sunset and know without a doubt that that same God is real and holy and fully present in their heart. You know, the great big Why of life.

All of these questions reminded me of something I read a couple of years ago. As always, someone else said it first, and said it best. The words are found on the last page of Donald Miller's book Through Painted Deserts. They are a reflection on a sunrise in a meadow in Colorado. I have never stood in that meadow, but I understand the sentiment. We are so small in such a big, big universe:

"These mountains, which have seen untold sunrises, long to thunder praise but stand reverent, silent so that man's weak praise should be given God's attention.

It is a wonder that those exposed to such beauty forfeit the great questions in the face of this miraculous evidence. I think again about this small period of grace, and thank God for it, that if only for a season, I could feel the why of life, see it in the metaphor of light, in the endlessness of the cosmos, in the miracle of friendship. And had these mountains the ability to reason, perhaps they would contemplate the beauty of humanity, and praise God for the miracle that each of us is, pondering the majesty of God and the wonder of man in one bewildering context.

Their brows are rumpled even now, and their arms are stretched toward heaven."

My brow is permanently rumpled when I think about God's love for me, and I stretch my arms to Heaven best when I am sitting on a swing.