By 
“Thy presence fills my mind with peace,
Brightens the thoughts so dark erewhile,
Bids cares and sad forebodings cease,
Makes all things smile.”
— Charlotte Elliott
I took a long walk the other day. I didn’t need distraction or exercise. I didn’t have an agenda. Instead, I felt a sudden pull to be outdoors surrounded by the beauty of creation. I am so glad I listened.
I left my music at home—sometimes it tends to wrestle against the sounds of nature. My five senses were now able to wonder. My aging rescue dog, with an arthritic limp, kept us zigzagging from one side of the road to the other. I enjoyed following him because his excitement was contagious. It had been a long time since I had taken a walk for the straightforward joy of it, free from the pressurizing tug of progress.
That realization surprised me. I felt a little sad, like something was being wasted. As we made it further down the road, my imagination seemed to awaken from a deep sleep. I could have sworn my dog was smiling. He kept stopping every few feet to look back at me as if to say “thank you”, causing me to stumble in the middle of the road. I laughed, awkwardly, as if to say “you're welcome” in response.
I felt desperate to take it all in—the sunset’s red, the towering green trees, the sound of rushing water pouring from an old drainpipe. I followed the sound and soon was on my tiptoes, leaning over the edge of a narrow creek hiding behind some overgrown vines. Dozens of invisible creatures were making noises inside their safe refuge.
The fresh air was intoxicating.
My breathing became a bit erratic as I attempted to identify every emerging bloom by its unique scent. I made note of each observation out loud, like someone set on remembering detail after detail. I had forgotten how healing nature is when it is taken in like this. I had forgotten how important it is to simply do the things I love without always expecting worldly gain. Not everything should be done for reasons that can later be measured.
Kids are good at this. They carry an unmixed talent for nonprofit activity with them. Almost everything they do is marked with pure enthusiasm, clear of grownup ambition. It makes them great artists, because their work originates from a place of freedom.
It seems the further away I get from my own childhood, the more I feel pressured to use the steps of my journey to advance me towards something “bigger”, rather than returning over and over again to the spot where my heart tasted joy. Months ago I began to have this awkward feeling of grief, as if I had lost something of value but couldn’t quite remember what it was. I kept myself busy amid the pangs by constantly checking off an invisible list, making sure everything was accounted for, as if my life were an overnight suitcase. It all seemed to be there; but why had it become so difficult to enjoy the things I love? If the joy of the LORD is (my) strength (Nehemiah 8:10, ESV), then why did I feel neither strong nor joyful?
It was in a moment of clarity, on our little afternoon stroll, that I recognized the evidence of discontentment that had forced its way into many of my everyday thoughts. I caught myself red-handed, rolling around in dissatisfaction and grumbling low concerning my circumstance. I realized that rolling around and grumbling low had become a sort of cadence, a soul-dividing noise.
When did my heart stop singing?
Discontentment speaks doubt in Christ’s goodness, leaving us feeling abandoned by Him. It takes a strong hold of the good gifts He has given us and convinces us they are useless where we are, that we must strive for more than we have been given. It constantly steals moments—an afternoon with the family becomes heavy with guilt because we didn’t get something else done. It takes the joy out of the things we truly love, like long walks surrounded by nature.
I knew what had been lost: I had lost the simple satisfaction of being with Jesus, walking with Him without agenda, zigzagging from one place to another while trusting Him from a place of rest, working and loving and living in a place of freedom where true artistry finds its wings.
Taking long walks has now become something I look forward to with great enthusiasm.
It has become my little way of taking time out of each day to remind myself it is important to enjoy my life, and most importantly to remember that true satisfaction comes from Christ alone. When we are satisfied in Him we can’t help but sing!
I have vowed to remember to keep my eyes on the Lord while living in a world that measures everything by effort, including my worth. I hold on to joy by holding on to Him. He is the place I return to over and over again, because in Him I have tasted joy.
Oh, taste and see that the LORD is good!
Blessed is the man who takes refuge in him!
— Psalm 34:8 (ESV)
Windy Gallagher
Windy Gallagher lives in Tyler, Texas where she is a thankful wife to her college sweetheart, and a mother of two brave and handsome boys. Windy has been a Womenary student for many years and is a member of the Womenary board. Her passion for the Lord is often expressed through her writing about the real struggles of life and the practical and profound ways God uses them to bring victory and freedom in her life. Join her on Facebook or twitter @windybecca 
