Kinds of Honey

Yesterday evening we went hiking.

This is what one ought to do on one of the last weekends of summer, when the sun is warm and the breeze begins to feel cool.

Interstates Park (the states being Minnesota & Wisconsin) is full of climbable rocks, trails along the St. Croix River, a small lake, and many trees.

As the sun slanted its low evening light, we followed the terrain up and down.

Scrambled just enough to where I felt scared, momentarily, on a too-steep wall, which gives such a nice rush of adrenaline. Rested at the top.

The view!

We wandered back down the trail to another along the Lake of the Dalles, listening to children play at the beach and the shouts and conversation of kayakers. I tried to sit on a rock and read, but a certain golden retriever kept trying to pull me into the water.

So, we made our way down to the pet-friendly picnic area and watched the mist and the evening settle over the St. Croix.

Peanut butter and honey and a sweet sixteen apple.

I read Brennan Manning, whose words have often brought my spirit solace and joy.

“It is always true to some extent that we make our images of God. It is even truer that our image of God makes us. Eventually we become like the God we image. One of the most beautiful fruits of knowing the God of Jesus is a compassionate attitude toward ourselves. . . . Healing our image of God heals our image of ourselves.” (Manning, The Relentless Tenderness of Jesus)

It is right for me to be in these places of beauty. It is right to make time to reflect. And to remember my truest identity, which has been established by a Creator’s love.