Writers Corner: Swing With Me
by Cindy Nehrbass
Sometimes, I sit on our lakeside tree swing alone, pushing the ground beneath me. It can be serene to move back and forth in the air, a revisit to childhood—not pushed gently by parents, but relying on my own volition and pumping legs. Sometimes, I invite my daughter to sit with me, side by side, a different kind of comfort there. We might giggle with our legs entwined, watch the silly ducks dunking for fish or a heron strutting at the water’s edge. Occasionally, I bring our puppy, who, if on a long leash, runs in search of different smells and animal sounds in nearby tree-trunks —her movement swaying me from side to side and in sharp diagonals. It is a bit chaotic, but still more peaceful than my day-to-day life and the world I worry about past my yard.
Sometimes as I sit, I pray. But most of the time, I try to let my mind rest and open to whatever exists past the road noise and neighborhood children playing or the sound of the news on someone’s extra loud TV. It is a “mini” escape, a respite. Sometimes, I can even feel the presence of my mom, or my dad, sitting next to me. I have no confirmation of this visually—I know they are in heaven, now. Maybe it’s just a hope, or a need, or some state of grief, but it happens. And, I am thankful I can picture my dad sitting on the same swing, with his eyes closed and head bowed in prayer (or sleep). I get comfort knowing the swing brought him peace after my mom died. Perhaps, he was swinging with her then, too; or, perhaps, he was swinging with God.
Maybe this is how Jesus sits with us all—without any formal “please join me” invitation. Maybe this is how God comes near…in our emptying of self. In the moments of quiet, when we stop the world and get off the ride, abandon the race, let go of the checklists, daily grind, expectations and must-dos. When we let the laundry pile up and the dinner dishes sit, turn off our phones. When we walk down the hill (or to a park) to sit on our personal swings or front stoops, or benches, or cross-legged on the lawn. When we are being fully whoever we are in the moment, past all flaws, sins, and personal failures. Sitting in the quiet, just as we are.
I know that when I sit on my swing in silence and let God’s creation—in the green grass, rustling leaves, and bird chirps—speak to me, I draw closer to God. By opening up to the moment, leaving a seat next to me, I believe God comes closer and swings with me, too. In your life, can you find your swing, empty yourself, and allow Jesus to take the seat next to you, too?
Amen.
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