Wandless Padawon Throws Tantrum at Multnomah

I'm still plowing through Harry Potter and am currently on the Order of the Phoenix. Two nights ago I dreamed of Harry and Sirius Black's head inflamed and floating around in a massive air balloon whilst a scary circus took place below. Darkness had fallen upon the land, and there were dementors and clowns running wild. All I know is that I wanted inside the balloon with the wizarding Animagus and his godson. However, being a Muggle I had to stay behind and face the psycho circus alone. *sigh* Story of my life.

Life has been...oh, how shall I say it....rather discouraging lately. Dark. Frustrating. And that's okay. Actually it's not, but considering where I'm at in life I might be alarmed if everything was peaches and creme (or in my case, chocolate and coffee-foam). As I type this, my balding cat is on a rampage to utterly annihilate the phantom-varmint lurking underneath the quilt on the futon. I don't have the heart to tell him that the fight is useless. There is no varmit, my young Force-sensitive Padawon. *another sigh* Story of my life.

A couple of weeks ago I took a morning and drove to Multnomah Falls. I was supposed to devote the day to a solitary "spiritual retreat" for one of my classes in seminary. And honestly, I did not want to do it. It's hard to be "spiritual" when life basically sucks, and that day it was and it did. I'm supposed to explore new spiritual disciplines and branch out in my general experiences of closeness to God. So, against my own will I decided to do what I needed and not what I wanted and something rather strange happened.

I was reading through Psalm 32 which is the only confession psalm in the scriptures that is not a lament. I also really enjoy The Message. Kudos to Eugene Peterson for paraphrasing directly from the Hebrew and Greek. And as I poured out my own personal frustrations and failings to God, I was reminded of my trust-issue. I really don't want to give up control over some rather destructive tendencies in my life, and when I boil it all down, the core issue is this: If I let go, I feel like I'm staring at a bunch of black blanks, and I don't know how to fill them in, and I hate how vulnerable and fragile that makes me feel. How does one trust in the face of mystery? And so like most people I know, I'll readily cling to something small, illusory, and unsatisfying in an effort to avoid the unknown. I told this to God in a much more raw, angry, and uncensored fashion than I care to admit. And I have next to zero compulsion to soothe his ego with flowery jargon, of which he has no need. So basically I threw a tantrum and waited for God to respond. *sigh* Story of my life.

It was at this point that I decided to go for a short hike around Multnomah Falls. It was an exceptionally frigid day and as a result the waterfall left a white curtain of ice cycles all along the mountainside. I stood at the bottom staring up and thanking God (the same God I just hurled all my frustrations at) for something so beautiful. I was glad I was alone. Then something compelled me to hike to the upper bridge which overlooks the floor of the falls. I had seen it before numerous times. The falls generally crash into a great pond of water next to the side of the mountain. I already knew what it would look like, but I was curious anyways. So I walked somewhat reluctantly upwards.

When I rounded the corner, I froze. The bridge was covered in an inch-thick layer of ice and everything in sight was completely white. The grass, the moss covered trees and slopes: white! As I made my way to the bridge I stared at the falls, and the pool I know so well was utterly transformed. It was so cold, in fact, that by the time the water from the falls hit the pond, it was a solid pile of powdery snow. I stared in complete wonder and this wonder was somehow all-consuming. And as I stared, a inner voice simply impressed upon me something profound. God didn't use words but I knew what he was saying. If I had to reduce it to words, it would have been something like, "See? I want to fill in all your black blanks with things that are constructive, creative, and real. But you have to release control of your destructive illusions." I stood there staring at the pounding waterfall transformed into fluttering snow, felt the ice crystals burning on my tear-streaked face and simply said, "Okay," once again.

I eventually left and returned home with a flicker of hope that even I cannot extinguish. And this grants me great peace. I don't know why, and I'll never perhaps be able to explain that, but I trust it. Maybe that's what Jesus really meant when he said that entrance into his realm and his way belongs to children (i.e. those willing to let go and trust in the face of great mystery).

So, there you have it. The wandless padawon threw a spiritual tantrum at Multnomah Falls and somehow returned home with peace. And that's basically the story of my life.