Jeremy L. Berg

Amanda’s Journal Entry 1

Well, here I am in the cozy surroundings of Eli and Sophia’s log cabin. A neighbor down the road, a carpenter by trade, was sent by Eli to prepare a fire for when I arrived. All I had to do was strike one match and the fire was burning warm and bright. The crackling and glow are already calming my restless soul. 

My 8 hour drive to Mt. Mystic left me alone with my thoughts—not always a safe place to be. The silence of the car allowed my inner chatter to take center stage, grab the microphone, and finally get a hearing. After six hours of driving and hundreds of miles from home, my thoughts still hadn’t even left the driveway. My mind was still preoccupied with everything back home: the kids, work, house chores, holiday planning, etc. 

But as I entered the foothills of the mountain, and the scenery began to change, the cares back home started to fade from my focus. There’s really something powerful about a change of physical scenery to precipitate a change to one’s inner terrain. Nature’s beauty began to arrest my mind and pull my thoughts into its alluring orbit. Mountain streams and trickling water falls. Towering pines pointing to the Creator. An eagle soaring overhead. I suspect a daily walk at a local park back home would do a similar thing, but some of us need to be plucked out of our familiar routines and surroundings before we can begin to hear our soul’s gentle whispers. 

As my vehicle climbed higher, the roads grew narrower and steeper—and more twisty. I thought of Jesus’ teaching about the Way to Life being narrow and populated by few travelers, while the wide road to ruin and burnout is broad and wide and jammed with traffic. The sun was beginning to set as I reached the summit. The view from that elevation made my spine tingle, and I experienced a warm rush throughout my body—a strange mixture of fear and excitement, of weariness tinged with expectancy.

I entered the cabin, took in the magnificent living space, and began to explore the rooms. On the wall in front in the guest bedroom were framed photos of other guests given a similar retreat on the mountain. A guestbook on the coffee table is filled with entries sharing others’ experiences here. In reading some of them, I was overcome with another feeling—something I don’t often feel back home: I feel special, I feel chosen! How lucky was I to be among Eli and Sophia’s chosen guests? How many others could use a retreat like this? But they chose me.

The fire was built for me. The bed was made for me. The fridge and cupboards were stocked for me. And I am grateful to be here.  I am glad I said yes. I’m glad I fought and resisted all the excuses I could have used to stay down below. I’m grateful for my husband for holding things together back home so I can be here.

I am going to try my best to be fully present on this mountain, and get all I can out of this Christmas on Mount Mystic.  But for now, time to kick my feet up, close my eyes, and just enjoy the warmth of this crackling fire.