AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Yes. The dream was over. And without her dreams—what was left?
That was what she’d come to Whistler to find out.
THE SUNRISE WASexquisite this morning—breathtaking colors, flung against the doorway of the heavens by the Maker of the universe.
It was the kind of sunrise Avery loved best, when tiny tufts of cloud caught and held the sunbeams, like fluffy lambs skipping through the sky. She drew a deep breath and leaned more securely against the railing of her porch—breathing in the glory, watching the wonder, cherishing these misty moments of elusive artistry before the less subtle beauty of full daylight was upon her.
El Shaddai, thank You for this glorious morning.Avery heard a whoosh of wings and glanced up to see a lovely Clark’s nutcracker skimming over the treetops, the bird’s smooth body a grey so delicate that it was more beautiful than any color. She shivered suddenly for no other reason than a jolt of joy, a burst of radiant love for this place and the God Who ruled it.
This is Your country, O El Shaddai. Thank You for the privilege of living in it. Thank You for making mountains, for forming the earth and calling it good. Thank You for the birds and the animals and the trees. All creation sings Your praise.
Every morning while she watched the sunrise, Avery prayed some version of this prayer. No matter how long she lived in Colorado, she’d never lose sight of the wonder that she was blessed enough to live here, among the mountains—or the joy that she was alive at all.
I praise You, El Shaddai. Marvelous are Your works.Avery focused on the dirt road that bumped in front of her cabin.Lord, that way is Estes Park...it’s full of people, some people who have spent their whole lives here...don’t let familiarity blind them to the miracle this place is. Let them see Your fingerprints in it...let them come to know You through the things You have made, like Paul said in Romans 1...
Since coming to Colorado, Avery had met some veterans of the area—people who were born in the mountains, grew up in the very shadow of the High Peaks, and were now raising children of their own. How they could live their lives with their heads down, ignoring the glory of the place in which they lived, was a mystery to Avery, but certainly some did. They became calloused to the beauty.
Avery knew she never would. The road to this place had been too agonizing for her to ever cease to revel in the contrast between these mountains, the temple of the Lord, and the hell she’d clawed her way out of.
For a moment, she could feel it again...that insidious darkness, creeping from behind, stretching greedy talons toward her soul. She shuddered and abruptly changed her position. No time for torturous reflections this morning. This moment belonged to El Shaddai and her.
El Shaddai.Of all God’s titles throughout the Bible, this was the most precious to Avery. She remembered how excited she’d been as a new believer to study the attributes of her Master, how many hours she’d spent with a dilapidated Bible she had purchased for $1.75 at a Goodwill store. It had been the Names of God translation, and Avery had been awestruck to learn how many different titles were bestowed upon the Lord.
There wasEl Elyon, God Most High...El Rapha, God Who Heals...El Roi, God Who Sees...but the most beautiful wasEl Shaddai.
God of Strength. God of Power. God of Provision.
And best of all, God of the Mountains.
God of the Mountains.All around Avery, the soothing aroma of peace spiraled skyward. Behind her log cabin, pines pointed dark green fingers to the heavens...and the Lord of the heavens. Around her, rocky mountain crags stood immovable, rugged monuments to His faithfulness. In the sky, birds swooped and soared, secure in the care of the God Who counted the sparrows.
Was there anyone who could come here and not feel the power, the way that the land throbbed with God’s very heartbeat? This was His country, after all. The native habitat of El Shaddai, the vigorous, the powerful God, not the anemic copy of Him that was locked up in sanctimonious church buildings.
Pure gratitude gently lapped at the edges of Avery’s soul. She lifted her face to the heavens and closed her eyes, letting the sunlight bathe her countenance.El Shaddai, I praise You. I love You, Jesus, my Lord. Holy Spirit, breathe into me.She held out her arms.Fill me full and overflowing. Help me walk in Your paths and follow Your ways. Grant me a clean heart before You, God of my salvation.
Avery smiled and opened her eyes. All around her, the new day was unfolding. In New York City, each day had been another rut, another maddening rush and dash that sucked away her spirit and dwindled to soul-numbing nothingness. But here, every new day was an invitation—a bejeweled necklace to wear with grace, not a chain to struggle against.
The last edge of the sun cleared the horizon. The shade patches on the snow were clear-cut now, purple shadow puppets leaning toward her cabin. Avery shivered and turned to head inside. The late February air was bone-chilling, and even with the sun shining brightly, the temperature probably wouldn’t rise much above freezing that day.
Sure enough, when Avery was ready to leave for work an hour later, the thermometer on the porch was huddled at twenty-four degrees. Tugging a ski hat over her head, she pushed her hair behind her ears. It still felt a little strange, having only shoulder-length hair. For most of her life, her hair had been long, but she’d had it cut right before coming to Estes Park. No sense in having to spend extra time grooming long hair that would only get in the way outside. Her sleek lob was much simpler—just like her life in the mountains.
“Mercy, you ready?” Avery glanced down at her black Labrador Retriever. The dog seemed to grin back, waving her tail so exuberantly that she knocked over Avery’s pair of hiking boots. She enjoyed Avery’s job working in Laz Jobe’s outdoor shop as much as Avery herself did. And no wonder. Mercy spent the hours there in luxury—snoozing in the back room, sniffing new merchandise, occasionally munching the treats Laz gave her. Now she darted out the door ahead of Avery at a purposeful trot.
In the driveway, sun glinted brilliantly off Avery’s truck—a 2001 Nissan Frontier, forest green, that looked like the automotive version of a tramp. The paint was peeling, the leather seats were cracking, and the gearshift made a terrifying grinding noise at times. Yet Avery was still proud of it. It was a good truck—solid, reliable, and trustworthy. Much more than she could say about the people who’d been in her life so far.
Mercy, accustomed to this routine, hopped into the passenger seat and nestled down. Avery slid the key into the ignition and the truck coughed and rattled to life, backing out of the driveway with only a few jerks along the way. Then began the twenty-minute commute to work.
Yes, this truck was a good old truck. It had carried her, after all, on the most important journey of her life—eighteen hundred miles from her tiny apartment in New York City all the way to her new home in Estes Park, Colorado.
Avery’s breath stalled in her throat. She swallowed hard, remembering the horrible year she’d gone through after—well, after Brian had stolen her sister. Just when she’d thought she couldn’t bear things any longer, just when she’d feared the darkness would swallow her soul completely...El Shaddai had made a way. She’d bought a flimsy road map, loaded her sparse possessions, and taken off, driving into the sunset, until she came to Estes Park. When she arrived, she could tell she was home by the feel—the way the sun made her smile, the song of joy her heart sang in the mountains, the fact that she understood what the wind was saying in the pine trees. This was where she was supposed to be.
She’d always wanted to live in the mountains, after all. Always yearned for wilderness, for a place where she could gaze forever and not see power lines and interstate highways and the insolent neon of gas station signs. Growing up in an elegant suburban house outside Syracuse, where her father’s psychiatric practice was based, had taught her early on how wearisome and unnatural that kind of life felt—a life of deadly safety, totally disconnected from the natural cycles of the earth—seasons and moon phases and rainfall and sunshine. And the years she’d lived in New York City had been—
Avery shuddered. No sense going back to the past. Hadn’t she promised herself she would only look ahead, only give praise for each sunrise and thanks for each sunset? The eight months she’d spent in Estes Park were healing her, she could tell—soothing the scars. She wouldn’t undo all the good that had been done so far by ruminating on the difficult and incurable past.
She leaned over and rubbed Mercy’s head. “Ready for work?”
As Avery made the final turn onto Marys Lake Road and marveled at the jewels of morning sun twinkling on the water, she decided the appropriate response right now wasn’t fear, or guilt, or regret.
