Looking down our gravel driveway at the open fields and trees that frame what I call my Montana sky, without fail, always takes my breath away. No matter the season, whether it’s the cold of winter, etched across the grey lifeless vista, to the gorgeous billowy clouds of summer, complete with the smells of newly mown hay, wildflowers, or even the cows in the next field, I understand what Anne of Green Gables meant when she said she wanted to drink it all in. My senses heightened, I am immersed in delight that words cannot come close to describing. This is the entrance to P’Niel, our retreat venue. And to our new home.
So it’s no wonder my heart breaks when I realize that in a short time it can all go away. For this land that sits across from our front door is about to be sold, and the loveliness that is there could be gone.
I’ve always thought—more times than not—I was an “okay” generous soul. Thinking I held my possessions rather loosely, freely giving of my time to family and friends, serving several places within my church, and even moving out of my beautiful home so that it could become a retreat and home away from home for missionaries, I felt I was in step with what God wanted me to do.
Up until this past Sunday when I realized that my Christianity was at best, lukewarm.