I have this little quote from Frank Lloyd Wright on a Good Earth tea, that sweet cinnamon kind that reminds me of Aunt Mary and my roommate, Lizzy. It’s a teeny slip of paper that I have held on to, its words becoming a sort of undercurrent: “The more I live, the more beautiful life becomes.” I have considered his words, weighed them, wondered if he’s right. This must have been true for FL W. His life is marked by innovative and beautiful designs, certainly exceeding his tea drinking audience.
"The more I live, the more beautiful life becomes"... Maybe it's like this: when you hold a newborn baby for the first time. You oooh and aaaah and say how beautiful it is although newborn babies are not as beautiful as they are…miraculous. But you say he’s beautiful and you fall in love with him a little bit. You love him without really knowing who you are holding. The knowing takes a while. You haven’t yet grown to love it or learn it. But then you devote your days and nights to caring for and loving him. You discover the things that make him unique. You share his first smile, and other "firsts"; and gradually you find that a love you did not realize could grow, has in fact grown so tremendously that you cannot imagine a time when that baby was not a part of your life and all of your heart. The more you know, the more beautiful he becomes.
There is something to be learned all around us. There is beauty to be noticed and taken to heart. I think this is what Frank L W is talking about. However, on a camping trip a few weekends ago I failed to embody that posture of humility or life-long learning. We went white water rafting, and I was over it before we had our life-jackets snapped. It's one of those fun touristy activities that requires no real challenge aside from auditory processing: listen and respond to your fearless guide telling you when to paddle.
I’m a canoe kind of person, a do-it-yourself kind of girl rather than a release of liability signer. This was my attitude as we embarked on our packaged adventure. Been there, done that, got the t-shirt (classic Paul Skinner line). I was less prepared for the ways the Ocoee River brought Frank Lloyd Wright’s words to life. I forgot the beauty there is to be held when you least expect it, the lessons we learn without asking.
Here’s what floated to the surface. They are truths I never considered during past rafting trips--parallels that are easily drawn to this season of life:
1. Listen to your guide.
2. Paddle hard. When you come to the rapids, paddle through it. When you’re totally soaked and cannot see between cold splashes of water, keep paddling.
3. You are not alone.
4. When you come to the place that is calm and sunny and deep enough to swim, lay your paddle down; and jump out of the boat. Let the current carry you, and the pull of the river free and guide you.
I'm not trying to be cheesey. Maybe that comes naturally. And I'm certainly not trying to over-spiritualize camping trips or babies. This is the life I've been given and the way creation reminds me of its Creator. The simplest lessons seem to be the most profound, and the ones we learn and relearn. Perseverance. Trust. Humility. "The more we live..."
If you are in that peaceful place and free to float, then I hope you leap with the boldness of Peter into the water around you. Trust your life-jacket to keep your head above water and enjoy the ride. If you are in the adrenaline rush of rapids, your arms tired and eyes blinded by water, keep paddling. I pray you have the strength to press on, to paddle hard and paddle through.
