The history of the mountains goes something like this: in the beginning there was God, and God created light and dark, land and sea. He then chose to separate the land from the sea so that He could graciously place humans, made in His image to bring forth His glory, on that land. Over time those humans moved across the land and settled in mountains all over the world, and in 1932, Winter Park became one of those settlements, too. Why people chose to settle there, I cannot know. Perhaps it was because of the way the land moved, and breathed. Maybe it was because of the way the trees lined up in a perfect crooked pattern. Perhaps it was the way the snowflakes fell in harmony like dive-bombers, plummeting to the Earth and crashing without a sound. I cannot know, but I do know Winter Park swept in and captured a piece of my heart for these reasons, and many more. Without that piece, I don’t think I would be truly myself. Truly Sydney. There’s something about Winter Park that makes me realize my insignificance as a whole, but my true value, everyone’s true value. It’s humbling, it’s heart-breaking, and it’s world-shaking. It really hit me when I was speaking to Jesseca after a three hour band practice. Both our voices were exhausted, and the hot stew we were gobbling down was beyond delicious.
“Lately I’ve been so sad and so broken, and I don’t know why. I have great parents, a great brother, and a life most people dream of. People who would give their lives for me. But I feel so… so broken. So sad. I don’t understand it. I just don’t.” Jesseca says, wiping the tears spilling onto her cheeks.
I begin wracking my brain for a reason for anyone to feel that way, because it was the same way I have been feeling, and I want the answer, too.
“But,” she continues, “I realized it’s because of everybody else’s pain. Because people in this world are going through things that are so painful, things they should never have to go through. We’re supposed to be His hands and His feet, and we fail so miserably. And it’s not right. It’s so sad. It’s so sad.” I join her in the tears then, because my heart begins to shatter also.
“Oh my gosh, me too, Jess, me too.” I stutter, trying to hold back the dam of tears that busted loose.
A few days later I found myself crumpled at God’s feet with the same feeling. Not pity, but calamity for things happening to others that I would probably never go through. My face burned and my mind reeled. The tears carved highways onto my cheeks and the flickering of my candle danced across the walls. It was in that moment I remembered our conversation, and the impact it had on my life.
Over on those mountains, a person can breathe. Literally and figuratively. Mom always said she was relieved to breathe without an oxygen tank when we visited the mountains. Yet, when one stands on that mountain, free of other people, free of distractions and cell phones, she can breathe. She can sigh deeply and almost taste the freshness, the iciness of the sky. She can see sights untouchable; feel emotions of so great a magnitude that everything else pales in comparison. She can tread on mountains and crush them beneath her feet. She can truly see, and truly be loved, because in those moments everything is stripped away. Worries, stresses, fear, to reveal the true person trapped inside for far too long. She can see the fine ribbons of land stretching out below her, where electric lights blur out stars, and she can wonder if this is what she’s been missing. What so many in this world are missing. It is in those moments, trapped in solitude that she can proclaim: “Oh God, You’re beautiful.”
“Lately I’ve been so sad and so broken, and I don’t know why. I have great parents, a great brother, and a life most people dream of. People who would give their lives for me. But I feel so… so broken. So sad. I don’t understand it. I just don’t.” Jesseca says, wiping the tears spilling onto her cheeks.
I begin wracking my brain for a reason for anyone to feel that way, because it was the same way I have been feeling, and I want the answer, too.
“But,” she continues, “I realized it’s because of everybody else’s pain. Because people in this world are going through things that are so painful, things they should never have to go through. We’re supposed to be His hands and His feet, and we fail so miserably. And it’s not right. It’s so sad. It’s so sad.” I join her in the tears then, because my heart begins to shatter also.
“Oh my gosh, me too, Jess, me too.” I stutter, trying to hold back the dam of tears that busted loose.
A few days later I found myself crumpled at God’s feet with the same feeling. Not pity, but calamity for things happening to others that I would probably never go through. My face burned and my mind reeled. The tears carved highways onto my cheeks and the flickering of my candle danced across the walls. It was in that moment I remembered our conversation, and the impact it had on my life.
Over on those mountains, a person can breathe. Literally and figuratively. Mom always said she was relieved to breathe without an oxygen tank when we visited the mountains. Yet, when one stands on that mountain, free of other people, free of distractions and cell phones, she can breathe. She can sigh deeply and almost taste the freshness, the iciness of the sky. She can see sights untouchable; feel emotions of so great a magnitude that everything else pales in comparison. She can tread on mountains and crush them beneath her feet. She can truly see, and truly be loved, because in those moments everything is stripped away. Worries, stresses, fear, to reveal the true person trapped inside for far too long. She can see the fine ribbons of land stretching out below her, where electric lights blur out stars, and she can wonder if this is what she’s been missing. What so many in this world are missing. It is in those moments, trapped in solitude that she can proclaim: “Oh God, You’re beautiful.”