The Theology of Clouds

When I was very little, my nascent view of theology came from my mother. But it wasn't any instruction rooted in the Bible or any other religious text, or even from her anecdotal experience.

No, she taught me to look up at the clouds to see God. That's where he lived.

In retrospect, it's a beautiful perspective to impress upon a child. God and Jesus amongst the clouds, not separate from my world, just higher in the sky so they could look down and take care of me. My prayers didn't need to stretch the cosmos to be heard; instead, they simply needed careful amplification (usually through tears).

The clouds this morning were pink, dusty, and just right for deity. They brought to my recollection one of those conversations with my mom where we talked about Jesus. I know I haven't posited much positivity about my religious upbringing on this site, but I think this morning's memory paints a clear path of preserved spiritual amicability.

I think it might be one of the reasons why I don't place much stock or emphasis on the boxes we create as humans to give shape to our gods. I feel much closer spiritually to my maker when I stare up at the Rocky Mountains or dip my feet in the waters of a cold stream. The pages of a dusty old book rarely provide the right impetus to challenge my negative points of view, but the clouds this morning reminded me that God is real and He is working. It set me on the right path.

I am grateful, upon silent recollection, that my mom did indeed instill in me an innate appreciation for nature.  Be it clouds or mountains, a cascading river or the rolling hills toward Payson, nature draws me close to my heavenly parentage, but she is not my god. She is simply proof of their residence, creation, and power.

In other thoughts today...

I've noticed that I carry an imaginary map of how things are supposed to happen. I've had it my whole life, and it was affected by both desire and external pressure/societal expectations: married by this age, established career by that age, financially secure, spiritually certain, kids raised a certain way, body still working a certain way, some dream accomplished before forty or fifty or sixty.

It's hard not to look around at life and wonder, right? A million tangential avenues missed, avoided, or ignored. An infinite number of unseen territories where another version of yourself exists, perhaps wandering existentially into the position of jealous thought as well.

We all give up sometimes. We turn around instead of plodding forward. We berate ourselves for mistakes, for misunderstanding a temporary trial as a permanent life sentence. It's rather normal, in fact. Our brains: they lie to us often and expertly.

But think about your map application of choice. Google Maps, Apple Maps, Waze, whatever you use...you miss a turn? No worries. The machine does not shame you. 

It does not badger you that the original route was shorter, or point out how much time you have wasted, or suggest that because you failed to follow the directions you might as well go home.

It simply recalculates. Your present location becomes the fact that matters, and from there it quietly begins providing another path toward your goal

There is something theological in that. I spend so much of my life judging myself according to coordinates I no longer occupy. I imagine the person I should have been at thirty and forty and the person I hope to be at fifty, and then measure the current self against an abandoned route.

But is there any useful navigation available from a place where we are no longer standing? No. Whatever wisdom exists must begin with the little blue dot as it presently appears on the map. Here. Now. After the missed turns, the detours, the closed roads, the years we would perhaps travel differently if given another chance.

Maybe I’ve been looking at failure the wrong way. Recalculating doesn’t mean giving up. It’s not saying the goal is out of reach. Sometimes the new path is longer. Sometimes it makes us go back through places we thought we’d left behind.

And with time, we might realize that the destination we were aiming for was already taken by someone else, and we get to pick a new one. But the map doesn’t need to tell us how we got here before it starts helping us move forward again. It just wants to know where we are.

That's all for now. If you've been around here lately, know my appreciation remains. I hope it provides a diversion and a bit of understanding about where I come from. I hope you have a chance to check out frgmnts, my social media app. It's a nice, quiet place; the polar opposite of Instagram/Facebook. It's growing every day, and I'm loving the development work. It deserves more users. You belong there.

I also have a few new games coming out on the App Store soon, so stay tuned for those.

Have a nice, tidy, adventurous weekend. Till next time!