I moved away from my hometown and my home state quite a few years ago, but visiting my family is still referred to as “going home”. Some of my fondest memories are being at my folk’s house and my Dad asking if I wanted to “go up the mountain” with him. We’d climb in his truck and head out towards one of several places: the Upper Meadows, Rome Hill, Onion Gulch. The truck always had a dusting of red dirt throughout, tools that had to be moved or tolerated, and even though it was out of sight, a rifle under the seat. There was a smell to Dad’s truck that can still raise all kinds of sweet memories.
Dad knew stuff: things about the weather, the feed or grass, and the history of the area. He’d talk about those things and we’d talk about what damn fool thing the government was doing. I heard quite a bit of common sense and wisdom on those rides. Sometimes it was just riding along enjoying silent company and countryside. Regardless of what the conversation was, it was first and foremost time with my Dad. I still treasure those times even though he’s been gone for many years.
“Very early in the morning, while it was still dark, Jesus got up, left the house and went off to a solitary place, where He prayed.” – Mark 1:35
At its most elemental, prayer is spending time with God. Frequently throughout the Gospels, we read about Jesus spending time with His Father, going off to pray. We are also invited to spend time with the Father, not just to deliver requests but to enjoy His company and our surroundings. To sit with Him being loved, just like I was loved by my Dad.
Just Sayin' 