Finding Grace In The Mountain Church

After a few nights of poor sleep and a few days of rich food, too many workouts with unnatural lighting and stale air in the basement, and several time-sensitive things that needed to be done back-to-back this morning I was just in a grumpy, lumpy, bumpy mood. This wasn't someone else's problem or someone else's fault. This was internal knottiness that I needed to untangle myself. This is not the kind of thing a glass of wine managed to mellow, or even something that meditation could crack. I had a serious soul ache and needed to fight something. I needed to seek salvation in the mountain church.








The weather broke today and the ice receded from the roads enough to ride. There was no way I was going to be pleasant company for anyone, so after a post-Pennington Presbyterian Church service nap, I pulled on tights and a fleece-lined jersey and headed for the hills on my own. To exorcise internal demons I already knew what was required. I needed a true moment of centering. I needed to sweat them out. I needed to climb a few hills that refused to be ignored. I needed to find a few that were long enough that I'd get to a place where I could only focus on climbing and pedaling and breathing.

And the Sourland Mountains reached out to me and offered their beauty, fresh air, and the patient, tough love of simply being there, allowing me to throw myself into them. What a blessing to have them so nearby. What a blessing that they are always there, always offering access to human-scale challenges and views into wilderness.

And so it was. I rode up one side and down the other and up another and down another. I rode away from home until I was tired, wanting to get far enough away that the return trip would really require some effort.



















I could have ridden forever. I drank the cool air as sacrament, pulling it to the bottom of my lungs and feeling the toxins being washed out through every pore. I glided past creeks surging with melted snow. My arteries stretched and flooded every cell with clean mountain air. My psalms and proverbs were animal's stories left as tracks in the snow. The hills offered me communion with nature. The roads were empty and I sang aloud.


























I got home hours ago. My muscles are warm and relaxed. My head is clear. My breathing is slow, deep, and calm. I feel whole and centered. I expect to sleep peacefully tonight.