Code of grey

God never says, "No." He says, "Yes", "Not yet", or, "I have something better planned." We can always ask God for patience, but without believing that He will bless us with this gift, if we doubt that we will receive wisdom, it'll never come.

Saturday, some friends and I planned all day to watch the sunset from Craggy Gardens, a spot that in the past has always proven promising for an awe-inspiring view at this time of day. As we neared the end of our 18-mile trek up the Blue Ridge Parkway, things were looking pretty good. The skyline was clear, the mountains rested in a shadow of blue, goose bumps rose on forearms as the chill set it. We rolled up the windows, pulled sweaters over heads, tucked hands under blood-warm upper legs, and anticipated the arrival. We were hopeful. Maybe a little too hopeful. At least I was. It had been months (8 to be exact) since I had last visited this spectacular spot. Never did I think that too low-lying clouds would veil our view. Craggy does sits at an elevation of 5,500 feet however, and there had been plenty of rainfall the previous few days, so we probably shouldn't have held too high of expectations. For when we approached the final mile of the climb, the grey was encroaching upon us.

“Dang,” I thought, “What a waste of gas.” We drove an hour plus to arrive at one of the best lookouts in the Asheville area, and all that I would bring back were photos of an unwelcome fog. This whole trip was my idea as well. Man.

We continued up the mountain though, determined that this anomaly (or maybe it’s not much of one?) would not obscure the scenery. Even into the hike up to the Gardens though, the air continued to dampen, visibility decreased, and the aspiration of enjoying a gorgeous sunset sunk in my heart like a rock in the river at the end of it’s skip, gliding along with confidence before it hits unbeatable resistance. As I mounted the top of the trail, I couldn’t get over the bummer. An effort that seemed completely in vain.

Deciding to at least enjoy the beauty of the mountainside before descending with an epic failure, I climbed down to a lower lookout where I found myself alone. Yes, I was in solitude, but even if I hadn’t been the only one standing at this point, one can feel pretty isolated when enveloped by a grey cloud. I looked in the direction of what should have revealed a wondrous mountain range, literally as far as the eye could see, but the only view I was glimpsing was a foggy lens in my Rebel.

As I sat on the brick wall surrounded by a cool mist, elbows on knees, chin resting on fists, sulking in my own pot of pity, a sickening but enlightening thought struck hard: how lacking was my faithfulness. Seriously, Teres? You are giving up all hope of seeing God’s majesty because He’s placed a few clouds in your way? If He’s placed them there, He can take them away just as easily. At that moment I was reminded of something God had recently been working my heart into twists about- patience. Virtuous patience. I smiled at my foolishness. It was one of those “duh” moments. Just be faithful, I told myself. “Wait, child. Hold your horses,” God was telling me.

I did, and it paid off. Not one minute after coming to the realization that God was giving me this time to show me his fidelity, the fog was clearing. All my senses were enlivened in that moment of healthy vasoconstriction; I felt the clouds whip through my hairs, between my fingers, across the nape of my neck underneath my braid, bouncing off my tongue, drying my mouth. I heard whistling in my ears, a soothing whisper from my Father, and inhaled the damp, cool disappearing haze. 


I know God. You told me so.

How rewarding is a view when it is first hidden then revealed. How breathless one becomes at this divine revelation. How great is our faithfulness.