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  • Ben Ward

A Note About Fog.

This morning, like many on the Central Coast, is filled with fog from the marine layer; condensed moisture that ascends the slope of the Santa Cruz Mountains like a slow tide, filling the canyons and ravines before overtaking the ridge-tops in slow motion. Mornings like this here at camp might just be my favorite of any place I've been (quite a claim—I know), the air fresh and damp, the forest which rises around our small valley veiled, misty and mysterious. The ground, usually dry and dusty is pleasantly tamped down with the weight of moisture, a soft watering for tired grass. Not everyone enjoys the fog to the point of poetic adoration, and understandably why: it can be a bit depressing, as the sun disappears from view, it's light relegated to the upper zones of the atmosphere. It can be quite hazardous, especially if you commute to work, zipping through a white cloud at terrible speeds, hoping you don't crash into another vehicle, animal, or the unseen. It can be cold, damp, and weighty. But when I awake to a foggy, peaceful dawn, I am quietly ecstatic, and this morning I really tried to put my finger on why. Two distinct reasons came to mind. 1.) When the fog envelops the forest, I feel safe, and cozy. My worry about the outside world is blocked by a landfall cloud which wraps itself around my immediate vicinity, nothing else matters but the moment and space I reside, looking at the Redwoods & Oaks, and listening to the quite awakening of morning life. 2.) Whenever the fog rolls in, it brings with it the life-giving properties of water. Here the summers are hot and mostly dry, with little to no precipitation from May to late September. I imagine on mornings like this the plants and trees quenching their thirst with the bounty of moisture which lingers in the air throughout the night and morning hours. The Redwood forest which I love and hold dear, is sustained and dependent on the life given from fog. It is upon these thoughts I suddenly realize that Christ's love is my spiritual fog. Through trust, and the practice of trust, I am able to see the beauty of mystery, even as I am completely unable to see far into my future life. When I am present to rest in the Lord, I have peace, solace. He wraps himself around me and holds me still, allowing me to acknowledge the life which surrounds me. Through the drought, the Lord's love is my fog, my moisture laden air which quenches my thirst and sustains me until rain rejuvenates the cracked ground. I can rest because I know the Lord will always provide, even in the driest of years. We, here at camp hope that you will find your foggy morning, wherever that may be. --Ben W. Let us strive to know the LORD. His appearance is as sure as the dawn. He will come to us like the rain, like the spring showers that water the land. -Hosea 6:3

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