All in Life Abundant
Do you ever find yourself feeling like God is distant?
Maybe something deep inside tells you that there is more to be had from the Christian life. Maybe you’ve been doing all the right things (at least as best as you know how), genuinely trying your best to pursue God and yet find that He still feels distant, despite your best efforts.
[Read on for the full chapter]
I wrote a book recently.
It’s called Clearing the Path: Connecting with God in a Cluttered World, and I cannot wait to share it with you.
So that you can get a taste of it, and so that I can enjoy sharing bits and pieces of it with you, I will be releasing excerpts over the next several weeks before the full book is available (late summer 2023 on Amazon and other retail outlets).
Short excerpts will be posted on my Instagram account (be sure to follow me @nathan.westwick) and longer pieces will be posted here on my blog.
I don’t have any compelling introductory paragraph to offer. I figure the title kind of speaks for itself, so let’s dive straight in:
Why do I choose to follow Jesus?
Well, let’s start this thought exercise at the gym…
There is a vacation home in the back woods of southern Utah where my family and I have gone nearly every January for the past 8 years.
We found it at a time when our lives were in major transition and upheaval. As we drove up to the house for the first time, we were all amazed at how incredible the place was. A large mountain home on 5 acres, this place became our sanctum after the busyness of the holidays.
And last week, we found out that the house sold and is no longer listed as a vacation rental.
I’ve been chewing on this since March of 2020…
Clearly, I don’t need to go into any details about the recent span of human history we’re living in, so let’s hop right in, shall we?
In a world where everything is about safety, about protection, about playing the odds and having them fall in our favor, I believe now, more than ever, is the time to throw caution to the wind and stop playing it safe.
Well, the summer is as good as over – school is starting back up, vacations are wrapped up, and it’s time to get back into the rhythms of the “normal”.
How does this transition of seasons sit with you? Are you refreshed? Excited? Nervous? Anxious?
This morning I decided to hop on my bike for a ride. Now, let me first say that it was raining most of last night, and it was dreadfully cold outside (albeit dry) when I woke up. 36 degrees, to be specific.
A big part of me didn’t want to ride, but at the same time, I woke up with a peculiar energy to just get out, get some variety, and go for a good old-fashioned bike ride.
Now, for some quick context:
This was, I believe, the 3rd “real ride” I’ve taken since October 3rd, 2019. That was the day I ruptured my Achilles…
Last night my family and I attended a concert together.
Well, maybe that’s too generous a statement. We all know that in 2020, “attended a concert together” means we all sat on the couch watching a livestream video while being distracted by our dog’s silly antics.
But hey – in 2020, we take what we can get, right?
I hopped on my road bike yesterday for the first time in about a year.
The last time I rode it was shortly before I ruptured my Achilles – an injury that is nearly a year in the recovery process, and still not where I would like it to be.
Now, full disclosure, the picture shown above was taken during my glory days on that bike. She and I (the bike, that is) would travel all over the local roads together, climbing mountains, enjoying views, speeding down descents. That bike and I have enjoyed thousands and thousands of miles of blissful togetherness.
And then, with one loud snap of the Achilles, it all came to a screeching halt.
Alright, it’s time for a thought exercise. I want you to play along for a few minutes, if for no other reason than to humor me. If this weren’t in written form, I would ask you to close your eyes and visualize what I’m about to describe. But alas, we’ll give a little grace if you refuse to close your eyes for this one…
Ready?
Here goes:
Imagine you’re standing on an overlook, staring across a vast desert valley. In the distance, rugged mountains cradle the valley with strong and dry arms.
As you look at the valley floor, you see it covered with desert chaparral – dry, brittle brush that thirsts for heaven’s rain. Swaths of the desert floor are bare, showing the evidence of rivers that once flowed many ages ago.
Can you see it?
Can you smell it?
Can you feel the warm breeze press against your face?
