On this bright still silent November day, we walk through bare thickets toward the lake like a silver mirror; so calm, so glassy, it holds on its wide surface all the patterns of light and air above. Its silence silences us. Its stillness stops us in our tracks. As I bend to touch a stone, I hear a voice say, "Love the earth". I cock my ear and hear the echo, faint yet unmistakable as ocean sounding in a shell. When I try to summon it once more, only my words come. A great and terrible tenderness breaks over me. Each pebble, each shell, is filled with beauty; each, in this moment, articulate, a word spoken, and I imagine beyond the grasp of hearing the great murmuring of creation beneath my feet. I feel these patient stones lie like an eternal sacrifice, offering me the ground of their existence on which to grind and crunch the pathways of my life ... I haven't begun to love the earth. Does it take the awareness of our death to wake us up to life?
My faith was tested. I was my own guinea pig; the years in isolation due to illness were passed in prayer and study of all kinds–like Job on his dunghill. I was to learn that health is also having FAITH in the higher aspects of human nature. Health is having hope, because without hope there is no life. Health is love of our selves and others. In truth, love is the life blood of faith and hope and together they create a healthy body, mind, and spirit: the Trinity of our being.