Evelyn Ann Greene

How Great Thou Art

I woke up this morning feeling anything but refreshed. It has been a long week and the days will only be getting harder and longer. Simply put, it is that time of year. A time for move ins and move outs. A time for repairs and cleaning and painting. List pile up with too many tasks and not enough of them checked off. 

But I woke up this morning. Just another day in a string of days. A humid summer Sunday morning. My head already swarming with the letters that need to be written and the emails that need to be sent before I step into the office Monday morning. Through the mental maze of leases and names a tune slowly weaves through my thoughts. 

And forest glades I wander
When through the woods
I hear the birds
Sing sweetly in the trees;
When I look down
From lofty mountain grandeur
And hear the brook
And feel the gentle breeze;  

Hymn #1 in my church hymnal. A song recognized by so many people. Hands, small and pudgy, allowed to hold the book for the first time this Sunday, barely tremble as they attempt to hold the pages open and steady for mom or dad. Hands, wrinkled with time, feel the weight of the book in their palms out of habit while eyes never glance down at the words and notes. The pastor of my childhood church loved this song. On those Sundays when the choir took a step down from the choir loft and let the congregation decide the music, Reverend Rhoda would always suggest this one. He never once hesitated, he just belted out the beautiful song.

I woke up this morning needing to hear this song, needing to sing this song. After weeks like this last one, before weeks like this next one I need the words, ‘How Great Thou Art.’ In the breeze around me, in the rain that falls, in the laughter and in the tears, always the whisper, always the assurance…How Great Thou Art.

and I would walk 500 miles…

Walking. It’s like wine or cheese. There are many types, for many reason, for many occasions. Sometimes you want a lot. Sometimes you need just a taste, a step.

This morning, after enjoying a pancake breakfast with my parents on the deck, I strolled down to the road, coffee in hand, to retrieve the newspaper for my Dad. I remember, as a child, hating that trip to the mailbox. I used to envy my friends that had a mail slot in their door or one of those cute little tins attached to their house. You see, my drive way is long, very long. There are probably many reasons I resisted that particular errand. I’ll blame it on the dust that filtered in from the dirt road, the threat of snakes (I have several memories of my dad taking a shovel or shotgun to one) and mosquitoes. Maybe I was just lazy, maybe I resented the request, whatever the reason I loathed that trip and refused it whenever possible. 

Today was different. I volunteered to do the once deemed dirty work. Perhaps it was a little of the nostalgia that creeps into my bones when I come home. Whatever my motivation, I thoroughly enjoyed my quiet little jaunt out to the end of the road to collect yesterday’s mail and Sunday’s paper.

Walks are things I have come to enjoy, whatever their purpose or shape. Over the years I have walked with friends and family on mountain trails, through neighborhoods, along gusty beaches. Sometimes we walk with purpose, to the store to pick up some forgotten ingredient. To a shop or restaurant to find a good deal or good meal. As the weather has improved, I have ventured outdoors with friends and coworkers to get in exercise at the end of a long day. But we don’t simply walk, we talk.

These adventure become opportunities to review the day, bounce ideas off one another, share memories, complain, laugh and sometimes cry. They transform into a roving therapy session.

There are rare moments that I find myself alone, like this early Sunday morning. Every now and then I take the opportunity and take to the road (or path or side walk) alone. It is here I breathe into the quiet around. Hopefully clearing out thoughts and ideas that clutter my mind, letting peace take over.