The Meeting Place: Moments with God at Lookout Point

By N.L. Brumbaugh

God can be found from the tiniest of wildflowers to majestic, craggy cliff s; in billowy cumulus cloud or in blazing sunsetseen in awe-inspiring loveliness that touches our innermost person with its alluring romance. God cares. The Meeting Place is an open dialogue and honest conversation with the invisible God who delights in the visible expressions of his handiwork and in those who look up.

Because of an inner need for healing and peace, N. L. Brumbaugh spent one year making weekly one-hour visits to the Meeting Place. The Lookout visits became a vital absorbing of the natural world, while in earnest she sought God through prayer and contemplationwith thoughts rich in tone and texture.

Join N. L. Brumbaugh as she views the beauties of nature, shares her heart, and speaks in intimacy with the God of love.

Bless you for sharing your life through a year of journaling at Lookout Point....Those who truly desire a closer more intimate life with God, will find it in your book. Christine Peterson, pastors wife

• Language: English
• Publisher: Inspiring Voices
• Release date: Aug 30, 2012
• ISBN: 9781462402465

N.L. Brumbaugh

Raised on a farm in northern California, N. L. Brumbaugh enjoys nature, walking, and writing. In her church, she has led in various ministries, often writing and directing for celebratory occasions. She is a reading specialist, teacher, mother, and grandmother.

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Copyright © 2012 N. L. Brumbaugh

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

Morning Has Broken Reprinted by permission of Harold Ober Associates Incorporated Copyright 1931 by Eleanor Farjeon

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Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

ISBN: 978-1-4624-0245-8 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4624-0246-5 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2012944218

Inspiring Voices rev. date: 08/27/2012

Contents

Dedication

Foreword

Preface

Acknowledgments

Introduction

PART 1 The Meeting Place At Lookout Point

1 Spring

2 Summer

3 Autumn

4 Winter

5 Spring

PART 2 Random Visits At Lookout Point

1 Return

2 Visits

Afterword

Prayer of Intent

The End

Appendix 1 A Desert Bloom

Appendix 2 Little Rose

Appendix 3 Love

Appendix 4 Loneliness Is Profound

Appendix 5 Christ’s Passion

Notes

About the Author

Dedication

It is a great honor and my heart’s desire to dedicate my first book to my parents, Ray and Evelyn Brumbaugh. During my formative years, you gave me a firm foundation for living. In my adult years, we have become close friends. You love your family with unconditional love, bless us with your prayers, and help us in many quiet and gracious ways. This book could not have been borne without the gifts of your integrity, kindness, and love. Thank you for being faithful and supportive. In some small way, this is an expression of my love to you. You are dear to me.

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 …Surely I spoke of things too wonderful for me to know. You said, ‘Listen now, and I will speak; I will question you and you shall answer me.’ My ears had heard of you but now my eyes have seen you.

Job 42:3–5, NIV

Foreword

It is with great pleasure that I introduce to you my friend and sister in Christ, Norma Brumbaugh. I have been her pastor for almost twenty years. I have witnessed God’s grace carry her through very difficult times—especially during her divorce and legal battles with her ex-husband over the best interest of their youngest daughter. As Norma cried out to God for strength and guidance, God revealed Himself to her and gave her what she needed—one day at a time. Norma’s faith honored God, and God, in turn, honored her faith. She writes from her heart experience; not just cognition. God is her heavenly Father, Jesus Christ is her Savior and Lord, and the Holy Spirit is her Paraclete.

As you prayerfully read this book, I am sure you will find the encouragement, enlightenment, and fortitude that you will need to face your trials and to carry you through to victory. All glory to a most wonderful God!

Pastor Larry R. Peterson

Preface

This book is a compilation of many weekly visits to a rocky precipice overlooking Butte Creek Canyon in the foothills of the Sierra Nevada Mountains nestled next to the Skyway, an expressway that runs from the northern California city of Chico up to Paradise, the City on the Ridge. From the canyon’s vantage point, a panoramic view can be seen for miles. The Sutter Buttes, a small mountain range to the south, stands alone in the valley. Shimmering water in bays and rice fields glistens in the distance. To the west lies a fertile agrarian region with towns and an abundance of trees known as the northern Sacramento Valley. A coastal mountain range borders the west, providing a backdrop for sunset pageants in full display. Butte Creek Canyon runs east to west. It houses a mesa and ridge, which rise from its floor. Butte Creek is barely visible when gazing down from the canyon rim at the Lookout. It meanders like an ebony thread between the cavernous walls of the canyon, walls marked with uniform layered edges as if they were formed in one broad sweep. To the east, the northern Cascade Mountain Range transitions into the Sierra Nevada Mountains, marking the California-Nevada border. Snow-covered ridges with fleece-laden trees dot the landscape during winter months. On cold, misty days, mountain ravines are hidden from view by thick layers of fog.

Like the taste of sweet cream in aromatic coffee, the display of the seasons heightened my interest each visit, making it a treat to observe the transitions in nature while I pursued my commitment to personal renewal. What brought me to the Lookout in the first place was an inner need for peace and comfort. What I didn’t know at the time was on its heels another struggle was soon to come, fraught with conflict in the form of a child custody situation. This would bring distress to my family unit and cause me to stand up in an adversarial position contrary to my nature. At the Lookout, my meeting place with God, I released the pain and stress while embracing the therapeutic outdoors. People would come and go, with cameras clicking, happy chatter, and laughter mingling in the air as they observed the canyon’s topography. I would make a game of it, guessing how the people might be related. Lovers too found the Lookout’s offering to be a delight; seeing people in joyful abandon increased my joy. Only a few made their way to the southern tip, where a concrete block sits on a rocky outcropping, a simple memorial to a loved one gone forever. I find it to be a quiet reminder for the rest of us of those we have loved and lost. I’ve often wondered its story.

The Lookout became my place of release, its view inspiring me to contemplate and pray. Active thoughts became the norm, as I recorded my wanderings hoping to capture them as they came to me. I sang, prayed, listened, absorbed; an awakening of my senses revived my weariness. In response, a gift was given to me, a gift of love and beauty, solace and healing. I received in a seamless blend the awe of creation knit with my belief in a loving and caring God. My first two visits to view the canyon were refreshing, helpful, uplifting, becoming my impetus for embracing one more way to seek God. The need for healing is a strong motivator. These hours alone at the Lookout encouraged me. I was able to deal with my stuff and find God as the healer and comforter. Sometimes I stood with arms resting on the railing while observing the canyon. Other times I moved to the rock slabs put there for the purpose of sitting to visit or to view the sunset. I stayed in my truck when weather conditions were not conducive to writing. Each visit I purposed to spend exactly one hour regardless of the weather or extenuating circumstances.

This book will provide a glimpse into my personal life for the purpose of sharing my interactive thoughts of God and also as a way to encourage and bless others. The messages I received in response to my prayers seem to have a sense of God’s presence and being. I believe thoughts that originate in God have warmth and weight with a sense of authority and truth different in texture from most of our thinking. In the text, I use the word consolation as the heading for moments of meditations that were more like a conversational prayer as I talked with my heavenly Father; they are a record of the thoughts as they came to me. My thoughts of consolation are shared to focus the gaze on God, who is the Creator and lover of the created world with whom he desires an intimate relationship. I hope these reflections will assist those seeking restoration with God, healing by God, and pleasure in God.

My weekly notations were written in a simple three-hole notebook in journal format. Most references to people in my life will be termed friend and my children as child, son or daughter. I have included some minor explanations and adjustments as needed with little change to the original record of my weekly visits to Lookout Point. A few prayers and notations have been included from my journal, written within the same time frame. It is my hope that these contemplations and considerations may bring peace for those who will take the time to pause and consider, to reflect and pray, during the few moments of reading its pages.

It is a beautiful day in God’s kingdom.

Rejoice ∙ Renew ∙ Revive

N. L. Brumbaugh, April 2012

Acknowledgments

Thanks to …

God the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit—Father, Redeemer, and Guide: You make each day sweet and worth living. Without your presence in my life, I would be nothing. A relationship with you is the very best that life offers. I am exceedingly grateful for the gifts of your love and forgiveness, peace and joy, hope and life. It is because of your work in my life that I am able to write this book.

To God be the Glory.

Children—Joshua, LaVonne, Thomas, Forrest, and Glorianne: Each of you is a gift—precious and strong; my life would be empty without you. My dreams and wishes for you are many, but most of all, I hope that each of you will fall in love with Jesus as I have. It will make all the difference. I love and appreciate you more than words express.

Siblings and Spouses-Juanita and Kirk, Marilyn and Dan, Paul and Kimberley: You bless me by who you are and the unselfish ways in which you choose to live. I am glad we have a shared understanding and oneness in spirit. It is a joy to watch you grow in Jesus. I am amazed at the freshness of your hearts enkindled with the love of God. You bless me. I love you.

Pastor—Spiritual father, mentor, and friend: You demonstrate love to your flock and consistently show us what is most important. You understand the human condition with its many foibles, its need for reality, understanding, healing, and love. You are the real deal. Thank you for being my teacher and pastor.

Christine—Wise friend, and encourager: Your notes and prayers sustain my sisters and brothers in the faith and me, seeming to come our way at just the right time. There is something about you that brings us joy when we are in your presence. Thank you for your hugs, compassion, and heart.

Vina Community Church—Caring church family: You are like the hands that held up Moses’ arms when he needed assistance; you always hold me up with your faithful prayers, love, and validation. I do not walk alone in any of my endeavors. Thank you—for being you with your joyful spirit and spontaneous warmth, for loving my children, and for standing by me.

Friends—You believe in my message and have encouraged me to follow my heart in this writing venture. You come in and out of my life like a cool summer’s breeze, touching me with your refreshing ideas, laughter, and humor. I need you in my life, for you keep me in balance. As you know, I can be too serious. Thank you for making my days richer and sweeter.

Inspiring Voices—A service of Guideposts: My voice will be heard in ways I did not think possible due to the service you provide. I appreciate everyone who helped this book become a reality.

Morning Has Broken

Morning has broken,

Like the first morning

Black bird has spoken,

Like the first bird.

Praise the singing!

Praise for the morning!

Praise for them springing,

Fresh from the Word!

Sweet the rain’s new fall,

Sunlit from heaven,

Like the first dewfall,

On the first grass.

Praise for the sweetness,

Of the wet garden,

Sprung in completeness,

Where His feet pass.

Mine is the sunlight,

Mine is the morning.

Born of the one light,

Eden saw play!

Praise with elation,

Praise ev’ry morning,

God’s re-creation.

Of the new day.

Eleanor Farjeon

Introduction

A heavy shadow of loss engulfed me, my heart was bruised. I could not escape its torment, the garment of sadness restricting my movements. I hurt. The dark night wrapped itself around me as grief invaded my being. I couldn’t go to church even though its doors were open. I had dressed with this in mind—but now I realized the thing was impossible; the pain would be there too. It was Thursday evening on the week of Easter, a holy time of commemoration and celebration, but I couldn’t do it. I had prayed for God to give me the strength to attend the service; instead I let my car lead me past the church through the bright city streets and onto the Skyway, a four-lane expressway leading east from the city into the foothills. In silence I drove up the hill, memories flooding my weary thoughts. I must go back, a U-turn, there—I was descending. The night was quiet, shrouded; few cars made their way up and down the roadway. On the way down the hill, I passed Lookout Point, a rock-face bluff previously known for its view, its suicide attempts and deaths, now newly constructed into an observation point—altering its perception while limiting would be drive-offs. Glancing at its gleaming freshness barely visible in the twilight, I thought to myself, I need to visit there someday, making a silent promise to do so.

The next day in the midmorning hour, I found myself pulling into Lookout Point’s parking lot. Climbing out of my truck, with hooded jacket on, I walked over to the railing to lean on its strength, looking for a balm to heal my wounded emotions, breathing in the serenity, while tears slipped in silent rivulets down my cheeks; cool moisture from the slight mist in the air swept my face with its cool refreshment. The canyon was invigorating, with its two walls and its gaping scooped-out appearance. Fresh signs of new life were cropping out where barren, ghost-like poses of burnt shrubs brought back the memory of the previous summer’s wildfire. My eyes closed. An image evoked of fire erupting in bright, red-hot explosions in the evening hours, as a friend and I watched from a deck facing this same canyon. We wondered how far its greedy hunger would reach. That was then—but this was now, the fire long gone. Rejuvenation in its infancy in silent whisperings began speaking to my inner brokenness—Just like me, time for a new beginning. I continued alone in my contemplation, my privacy uninterrupted as I walked the fence line from rocky point to hanging cliff edge.

I stood there for quite some time before retrieving my notebook from the truck. I began to write. As I wrote, my eyes scanned the rough canyon walls, seeking to capture every minutia so that I might record in detail the variable forms of nature I was absorbing. I drank in the intricate beauties around me, thoughts flowing from my pen as I captured them on my canvas of words. Large birds were soaring on air currents beneath where I stood. I found them fascinating to watch, my gaze trailing their movements as I began clearing my head of its fog. I would record it, yes; I would write a poem describing every object I was observing, the literary form taking shape as quickly as I thought the words. Writing in neat, legible layers, a loosely written poem began to form. I was in no rush. In quietness, peace entered my being, the sadness lessening, my thoughts turning to praise for the God I love. An hour or so later I closed my notebook, breathed in deeply, and returned to my truck refreshed and ready to drive down the hill and on to my home in the valley. Nothing had altered the pain in my heart, but I had received comfort. A melancholy call to the canyon began beating its refrain. I knew I would return.

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THUS BEGAN MY TIMES AT LOOKOUT POINT, the venue where my thoughts met God, where his healing touch ministered to my human need. This became the best hour of my week. I can only describe it as my sanctuary, my place for renewal, my meeting place with God. I went there to heal from loss, and in the process, I found myself nurtured in a cocoon of God’s glorious creation.

PART 1

The Meeting Place

At Lookout Point

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Lookout Point at sunset.

A journey to find God in close relationship will begin in the heart.

N. L. B.

1

Spring

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Oak trees at Lookout Point

Morning has broken,

Like the first morning

Blackbird has spoken,

Like the first bird.

THE MEETING PLACE ∙ WEEK 1

My First Visit

April 2009, 9:30 a.m.

It’s a cloudy, misty day, just like my heart. I seek solace in the beauty of creation.

IT IS LOVELY HERE. How gracious God is to me. I love his creation. It speaks to me more than any voice ever could, resonating deep in my soul.

I feel your presence here, dear God, your divine touch meets me as I stand here looking at the beauty of your delicate created pieces of life. How good you are to me, and I am undeserving of any of it. I look to you to find my hope. You never forsake me nor fail to help me. I praise you. Give me eyes to see.

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Lookout Point, Butte Creek Canyon

What Do You Want Me to See?

The hawk-soaring in graceful circular patterns:

Floats in seamless style

The clouds- in varied hue and shades of darkness:

Black and white

The Manzanita shrub-weathering winds of time:

Brave, rooted to the cliff’s precipice

The mesa-with plant and shrub reaching to the sky:

Alone and strong

The pinnacle-in layers:

Strong with rough edges

The ridge-dividing the canyon:

Lifts to join the mountain

A carpet of greenery-life, goodness, rejuvenation:

Newness and oldness in combination

The burnt trees on yonder canyon rim reminds:

Of God's protection to those in the valley

Blue sky-to awaken our senses:

A ribbon that surrounds us in cobalt blue

Oats and ferns-with scissor pods:

Reminds me of childhood play

Scattered trash-that scars:

But speaks of human existence

Lavender wild flowers-swaying in slight rapid twitters:

By themselves-their faces serene and sweet

Shadows-darkening patches of green earth:

As clouds shield away the sun’s glow

Dew drops hang-on man-made fence lines:

My senses feel their cool wetness

Lichen on volcanic-metamorphic rock:

Embed with a conglomerate of tiny stones

The wind is felt but invisible-touching the plants:

As a whisper of breeze flows past

The fertile valley beyond-with sons and daughters:

Abundant in trees and flora

Agriculture and people-display an awareness:

Of the busyness of life and things

The bird flies above the beauty of the earth:

Soars in glorious freedom

But does he see the loveliness beneath him?

Does he see what I see?

Has God given him the gift of delight:

The awakening of senses?

The drinking of nectar-the sweetness of discovery?

I think not

So graceful his measured path:

Gliding in graceful turn by canyon rim

Thank you, dear Jesus-for all you give us.

Sweet Jesus

The Lily of the Valley-the Bright and Morning Star:

This is a place of joy and peace

Fill me, Father-God; release your joy in me

It’s so pretty-majestic-pure loveliness

Like a rich dessert-with feather-light taste,

A satisfying delicate blend of essential, exotic flavors

Gentle lifting of sorrow’s sigh-my cares:

Moments transfigured by your delicate touch

Memory’s dark cloud sweeps it’s presence:

A momentary hiding of magnificent white billow

A temporary shadow which lingers not:

But hides light