Film Canisters, Garnets and Shadows
As I continue working on a women’s retreat based on Macrina Wiederkehr’s beautiful book The Song of the Seed, an old memory surfaced. I found myself thinking about Lee Valley Ranch in Custer, South Dakota, where I volunteered with my kids for many summers. At times we would take a walk from the lodge to the garnet mine.
At one point, if I’m remembering correctly, we walked alongside a tall mountain. We were walking in the shadow of that mountain. Then, little by little, the trail opened up and we came into a beautiful green meadow. Eventually, we reached a little hill of loose dirt where we would sit down and sift through the dirt, gently moving it aside as we searched for garnets. I still have my little film canister of garnets. (Remember film canisters?!) They’re not worth much, but they’re a wonderful reminder of those days. I never could have led that walk. I was definitely a follower. I needed someone else to know where we were going!
As we walked along in the shadow of that mountain, I would often think about the 23rd Psalm: “Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for you are with me.” We were walking in a shadow—but we weren’t actually in the mountain. The shadow was there, but it wasn’t the mountain itself. And I began thinking about the “shadow of death” in the same way. A shadow can feel very real. It can make us afraid. It can make the path seem dark. But a shadow is not the thing itself. Death may cast a shadow, but death is not the final word. The final word is life—life eternal with our God.
I also remember the little stream along the way, where people could stop and have fun panning for gold. Then we would walk into the lush green pasture and eventually arrive at the garnet mine which was pretty desolate, dusty and delightful all at the same time. We had left the shadows and entered a wide, open space. No fear. No darkness. Just a bunch of people having fun, hoping to find that one big garnet that would make us rich!
That memory feels especially meaningful to me right now as I think about Macrina’s invitation to let God be our Shepherd. To let God lead us through the green pastures. To sit beside the stream with us. To walk with us through the shadows. And eventually to lead us into the clearing.
Then Macrina asks a simple question: “How often do I sit beside a green pasture for someone else?” For someone else. That little phrase keeps staying with me. Maybe sometimes our ministry isn’t about saying the perfect thing or having the right answer. Maybe it’s simply about being there. Sitting beside someone. Walking beside them. A ministry of presence. I really like that idea. Maybe there are people in our lives who don’t need us to fix anything. They just need someone willing to walk with them for a while—through the green pasture, beside the stream, or even through the shadows. And maybe that is one of the ways we become the God’s presence for someone else.
Something to ponder today.
