Grace on the Road

“Be still and know that I am God.”
—Psalm 46:10

Tonight we are in Monterey, California. We went to Mass at the beautiful Mission San Carlos Borromeo de Carmelo, held in the Blessed Sacrament Chapel rather than in the larger and grander Basilica. We spent some time beachcombing on Monastery Beach and briefly entered the grounds of the Carmelite Monastery of Our Lady and Saint Therese. We took the 17 Mile Drive through Pebble Beach, winding our way among homes listed for upwards of $25,000,000. (Yes, that’s 25 million dollars!) But it was not the homes that were impressive as much as the natural beauty of such spots as Huckleberry Hill, Spanish Bay, and Bird Rock.

My senses are on overload. It is time to be still and absorb some of what I have seen. It is time to listen to what the Lord may be whispering to my soul.

James Goll wrote, “Learning to be quiet before the Lord is one of the greatest challenges we face today in our quest to enter in and experience true intimacy with Him.” I have found this to be true on our journey as we move from place to place, constantly packing and unpacking, sleeping in different beds. But it is equally true in my daily life back in Kentucky when my calendar is full of appointments and there is a never ending list of chores demanding my attention.

The ancients knew the importance of practicing stillness. The prophet Habakkuk, after laying his questions before the Lord, resolved, “I will stand at my watch and station myself on the ramparts; I will look to see what He will say.” (Habakkuk 2:1) Job, after contending with God about his circumstances, was instructed, “Listen to this, Job; stop and consider God’s wonders.” (Job 37:14) The psalmist wrote, “For God alone, O my soul, wait in silence, for my hope is from Him.” (Psalm 62:5)

It is easy to be overwhelmed when we are surrounded by the grandeur, the majesty, the “muchness” of creation. And I do believe we need these times of marveling. They teach us something about the greatness of God, especially when we recall that what we can see is but a tiny fragment of all that He has made. But we are finite creatures. The truth is that we can only absorb so much before our senses become dulled, before a curious sort of numbness takes over. We can grow sated, even uncomfortable, as after overindulging in a holiday meal.

Pope Saint John Paul II wrote, “We must confess that we all have need of silence (stillness), filled with the presence of him who is adored.” And Saint Teresa of Calcutta said, “We need to find God and He cannot be found in noise and restlessness.”

As I have taken time to be still, it has come to me that the things we consider magnificent are really made up of what we know as the ordinary stuff of life. The spectacular Half Dome in Yosemite is really just a rock. It is, admittedly, a particularly big one, but it is truly no more beautiful than the small pebbles I collected on Monastery Beach, when those pebbles are considered closely. The powerful beauty of cascading waterfalls and pounding waves is composed of the same water that runs from my faucet. Why do we consider one more impressive than the other? Are the mammoth sequoias really more beautiful than the delicate moss around their bases? Do we miss the still, small voice of God when we look for Him only in the extraordinary?

This evening I leave you with a few images and invite you to be still, to consider, and to know that He is God.

“There are only three stages to this work: to be a beginner, to be more of a beginner, and to be only a beginner.”

—Thomas Merton

“Resolve to be always beginning – to be a beginner.”

—Rainer Maria Rilke

“Always we begin again.”

—Saint Benedict of Nursia

“Each morning ask where you need to begin and start there with humility, compassion, and with holy anticipation. Everything else follows this.”

—Christine Valters Paintner

Today was a day to begin again. And what a wonderful day it was! I took a few lessons from the exhaustion of the last few days and purposed to simply be content with what the day presented.

We decided to set aside our greed for experience. Knowing that it is impossible to see everything, that there will always be more to see, no matter what pace we set, we determined to slow down and savor. We had intended to drive down Big Sur. But instead…

We slept in! And then I spent the morning with a mug of tea and my journal. Glorious!

We set out around lunch time bound for Fisherman’s Wharf. We were amused by the sign at the Visitor’s Center that allowed us only 24 minutes of parking. What, I wonder, would have happened if we stayed for 25 minutes?

Lots of construction near Fisherman’s Wharf made it not the best place to stop. A drive along Cannery Row yielded some possibilities, but nothing really caught our eye. We soon found ourselves in Pacific Grove, a community of Victorian Era houses and incredible views right on Monterey Bay. John wanted to stroll and take pictures. I was content to park myself at a little cafe with ocean views and soft music in the background. I savored a delicious panini and an almond milk chai while taking advantage of the free WiFi to do some writing. This may just have been my favorite two hours of the whole trip! It was utterly restorative!

When John returned, we decided to just enjoy the coast. We drove along the road that follows the shore, stopping wherever the mood struck us. One of the first spots we stopped had plenty of rocks on which cormorants roosted. We must have spent half an hour watching the waves and photographing the rock formations. Just as we were about to leave, I thought I saw one of the rocks move. Upon closer inspection, we realized that some of what we thought were rocks were actually seals! Naturally, we stayed for a good bit longer to watch the seals just nap. I think they may have figured out something profound about life!

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What lessons can I draw from this experience? Stillness and patience pay off. Often even what is right under your nose isn’t obvious. It can take waiting, watching, studying, and listening for truth to be revealed. But the results are so worth the effort and the wait!

Another stopping spot a little farther along the coast held more beautiful views of rocks and waves. It wasn’t until we were about to leave that we realized a raft of sea otters (or possibly a herd of seals) was feeding right off the coast. Although I couldn’t get a clear picture, I could watch them fairly well with the help of John’s binoculars.

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One stopping spot allowed us a bit of access to a fairly rocky beach. Although walking on the coarse, very loose sand was challenging, it meant we were able to watch the hermit crabs in the tidal pools in the rocks. I was also amazed at the varieties of seaweed clinging to the rocks above the low tide line. I had no idea they were so lovely!

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We had enjoyed our day of beginning again tremendously. We both agreed we needed to just relax and play. And be quiet. It was good for the soul and allowed us to see many things we would have missed.

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“Nature never rushes, yet everything gets done,” wrote Donald L. Hicks. A good lesson to learn as I begin yet again. Now for the beginning of the rest of our journey…

Some days are predictable. Others are filled with the unexpected. On some days, a theme readily presents itself when I reflect. Other days seem to be a hodgepodge of varying impressions. Today was such a day, and I don’t know that I have anything really profound to share. But sometimes, once I begin writing, I am surprised by the direction my thoughts take. We will see what happens this evening.

We had a goal in mind for today: Sonoma. And we had planned a general route: along the coast, through San Francisco, and across the Golden Gate Bridge. Google Maps had said this drive would take just a little over two and a half hours, but we knew better. We have enjoyed stopping wherever the mood strikes, so we planned to go at a leisurely pace and take all day to reach our destination. Perhaps this is a generally healthy way to live all of life. Set a goal toward which to move, but don’t be in a hurry to get there. Then notice what happens along the way, and learn from it.

One major surprise has been how quickly the landscape changes here along the Central California Coast. The transition from developed and densely populated to heavily agricultural to completely undeveloped is rapid and startling.

We have seen, over the last few days, vast fields of produce of every kind. Often they stretch as far as the eye can see. And they run right up to the coast in many areas. Clearly, much is mechanized in the tilling, planting, and maintenance of the fields. But the harvesting still seems to be mostly done by hand. We have frequently passed fields filled with workers bent over the crops, some running full containers to waiting trucks and then running back again. Workers are paid by the pound or container harvested, so speed is of the essence. What, I wonder, is life really like for those who harvest our crops? How many of us could handle the long hours in the fields, bent over crops that grow close to the ground? When I do my shopping at a local supermarket or enjoy a meal at a restaurant, do I consider the labor involved, the human lives necessary to get each meal to my plate? Am I grateful for those who have worked so that I may eat? It is, I think, worth considering.

Urban areas, of course, are all along the coast. We visited Mission Santa Cruz, which turned out to be in a fairly rough part of Santa Cruz. Although daily Mass is held in the mission chapel, the building and small garden are not well maintained. No one seemed to care whether we were there or not. At first I was only thinking of what a shame this was. But then John pointed out that the church seems to be heavily involved in mission work, including a food pantry to which people were flocking. (It’s fascinating that, only a few miles away, workers are throwing away much of the food in the vast, lush fields, yet here, so close by, there are those who are going without. Can this be right? I wonder what the Lord thinks of this state of affairs…) Perhaps this parish has its priorities more in line than I thought. They are serving the living. What could be more important?

Between Monterey and San Francisco, there are great stretches of land that are totally undeveloped. A good bit of this is rocky and, though gorgeous, rather inhospitable. But much of it is simply gently rolling, grassy hill country. It is a mystery to us why it is neither farmed nor developed. But I am grateful because it is simply beautiful.

Along the way we stopped in a family-owned market in the small town of Pescadero for a sandwich and salad for lunch. We enjoyed these in the car at a pull-off on top of a rocky cliff overlooking the ocean. We stopped to explore Pigeon Point where there is a lighthouse that looks like it could be in New England.

We made our way through the streets of San Francisco (which truly are incredibly steep!) and visited Mission San Francisco de Asis. Again, I was amazed at the peace of the place, despite the playground noise from the school next door.

A drive across the Golden Gate Bridge took us to Vista Point where we could look back on the bridge and the skyline of San Francisco across the bay.

And now we have settled in for the night at a quaint little inn in Sonoma.

It’s been a lovely day, full of charming surprises. I really have nothing particularly profound to share. And perhaps this is as it should be. Perhaps it is good to simply have space to breathe once in a while and just enjoy what the day brings.