Finding Perspective on the Benches of Beech Mountain

Last month, James and I traveled to Beech Mountain, because two of our friends held their destination wedding there. This was my first visit back since dislocating my shoulder in March, and I felt incredibly grateful for how far I’ve come in the healing process since then.

Still, I knew my limitations. One of our favorite hiking trails involves some climbing, and on this trip, the path was muddy and slippery. I encouraged James to hike anyway while I opted to read on the shores of Lake Coffey, a lovely fishing lake surrounded by a boardwalk.

Benches dotted almost every angle of this lake, and I chose one to spend reading, reflecting, and praying before continuing my walk. Each angle around the lake afforded new beauty. In those moments, I enjoyed the rare perspective of seeing the entire lake or “big picture.”

We don’t often have the opportunity in life to see how God is working from outside our perspective, but the object lesson of these benches afforded a new glimpse into the healing process that I hope will encourage you today.

Up close, our vision is limited.

When we’re in the thick of a crisis or difficulty (dislocated shoulder or other), we can only see what’s right before us. In a sense, we have tunnel vision, because we have to summon all our willpower and strength to deal with one thing.

The opening verses of Psalm 42 describe so well the real tears and often spiritual anguish we experience in suffering.

As the deer pants for the water brooks,
So pants my soul for You, O God.
My soul thirsts for God, for the living God.
When shall I come and appear before God?
My tears have been my food day and night,
While they continually say to me,
“Where is your God?” (Psalm 42:1-3 NKJV)

Do you hear yourself in those verses? Has there been a time in your life where you’ve felt alone and “parched” for the presence of God? Maybe you’re in a desert place right now.

If so, I hope you’ll follow the Psalmist’s example and keep pursuing the Lord. Even in his suffering, he longed for God. Despite the naysayers. Despite his own stormy doubts.

When we’re in the thick of a crisis or painful situation, our best response is to pursue Jesus until our emotions catch up with the truth that He has never abandoned us and never will.

Distance reveals our ongoing need for God.

After reading for a while on one bench, I continued my walk around the lake. As I did, I could still see the bench I had vacated, but it now looked much smaller: only the size of a hand’s width instead of a six-foot bench. The distance disoriented the bench’s reality (as distance often does).

Sometimes in life, we feel “distant” from God, because we can’t see clearly. In this Psalm, the writer was not just emotionally hurting but also physically distant from his place of worship, the temple at Jerusalem. As a result, he had to remember his God from afar, “from the land of the Jordan” (Psalm 42:6a).

O my God, my soul is cast down within me;
Therefore I will remember You from the land of the Jordan,
And from the heights of Hermon,
From the Hill Mizar. (Psalm 42:6 NKJV)

The Enduring Word Bible Commentary explains what the Psalmist is doing here. “In an almost detached sense, the psalmist reported his cast down soul to God. This was wise, because a common tendency in such times is to stay away from God or act as if we could hide the problem from him. The psalmist did neither.”

Of course, we can’t hide our problems from God, because He is omniscient (all-knowing) and omni-present (everywhere). Even so, He desires for us to have a personal relationship with Him but doesn’t demand our affection. We get to choose if we’ll run to or away from Him.

I hope you’ll join me in running to Him. When we feel alone or isolated, no one can understand or empathize with our troubles as the Lord can.

With time, comes beauty and hope.

Finally, I came full circle to where I had started on the lake’s walking trail. I could still see the bench I visited, but now, it was more than just a bench. It represented a time I’d spent in prayer and reflection.

Although I hesitate to call a dislocated shoulder a beautiful thing, I can’t deny that beauty has come from my accident. For starters, I experienced the loving care of my wonderful husband and the tangible truth that two are better than one. I also met new people at the physical therapy office, whose paths I might not otherwise have crossed. I came away with a new sense of compassion and empathy. My pain wasn’t isolated. So many others are hurting in ways I never imagined before and can’t pretend to understand. Most of all, I gained a new appreciation for God’s own sacrifice for us and the suffering Jesus endured. My own pain was miniscule compared to what He suffered for me!

I also came away with renewed hope. Sure, we live in a broken world, and pain is a side-effect of sin. This painful situation wasn’t the first and won’t be the last I’ll experience in my life.

But even in our struggles, we can have hope, not in a perfect resolution to the pain, but in the final resolution when all death and suffering will be swallowed up in victory (I Corinthians 15). We can hope, not in our changing, unpredictable circumstances, but in the One who remains the same yesterday, today, and forever (Hebrews 13:8).

I like how the writer ended this Psalm:

Why are you cast down, O my soul?
And why are you disquieted within me?
Hope in God;
For I shall yet praise Him,
The help of my countenance and my God. (Psalm 42:11 NKJV)

I shall yet praise Him, not only for the help He gives, but because He Himself is my Help. And He can be yours too.

One winter in the future, I hope to return to Beech Mountain and ski again. For now, I’m grateful for how far I’ve come in my healing journey and for the perspective a few benches in Beech Mountain gave me.

~ Kristen