Tag Archives: fog

Up the Mountain…


We woke up yesterday morning under a fog. The San Francisco June had settled down with misty determination. I gleefully took it as a sign to curl up in my coffee cup and tap, tap, tap away on my keyboard all day. I was sure the same conclusion had been reached by everyone until my husband said:

“Get your shoes on. We’re going for a hike.”

I was doubtful. Our language is sometimes inadequate on these points. For example, I say the same thing when I’m running to the store a block away.

And so James drove us the half hour to Mount Tamalpais. It was chill and we were dressed to our wrists and ankles. But we drove through the fog out of duty. It was June and it was Saturday and we were going on a hike.

Then, somewhere halfway up the mountain the car broke through, just like that. The sun was shining; the glass of the windows became warm to the touch. It was glorious. We got sunburned.

When we got to the top we found ourselves on one of the tiny green hills poking out of an ocean of cotton batting. And I recognized the truth that the sun had always been shining brightly. I had just been under a fog. And duty had brought me out.

In ten years of marriage I am just learning how to utilize the duty of love to carry me through to the next frenzied glory of trembling affection. In my Christian life I’ve been practicing it longer. And, so far, I’ve proven that the sun is always shining and it always comes back.

I was contemplating these things in church this morning, Pentecost Sunday. The apostles had seen Jesus risen and witnessed his ascension. They had witnessed the miracles. They may have already been prepared to go out into all the world as he had instructed them to do. But they had the dim duty to wait sequestered in a room as instructed until …

Until what? Until when? How glorious it must’ve been, all in a moment, to be touched by the heat of the fire yet not consumed!

It occurs to me that covenant vows are rarely made to cover the known. They are made to cover the unknown. That’s why you make them, because there is so much unknown.

No one knows what marriage will bring to them when they vow. When the baby boy this morning tilted his head back so a rivulet of baptismal water ran down his face into the hollow around his eye he had yet no idea what paces his Christian walk would go through. I didn’t know there would be sun on the mountain. If I had I would’ve brought sunblock.

Thank goodness for duty.

From the Fog…


The fog came in on Tuesday night and was content to stay until this morning. It was less bright and the chill inhibited the making of any big plans. This fit my mood and so I enjoyed watching it sift down into the cracks of the city like flour from the clap of a baker’s hands.

To fall by particles like that the fog must come from a place of discontent, or some other strong emotion. Perhaps clouds occasionally fancy life outside their realm, envy the water its easy territory and descend onto its face, rolling themselves out to the edges of the Bay and creeping up the hills to make misty beaches of the avenues. They do their best to flow, but lack sufficient force to work movement on anything save the dangling zippers of our coats.

It’s satisfying, maybe, to obscure the long vistas down to the sea, to trouble the boats, and prove the old adage, “misery loves company”.

Or maybe it gets lonely up there in the middle, not quite air above, not quite water below. Filled and emptied over and over, the water cycle of life can be wearying and unrelenting. It’s understandable if sometimes despair sets in. Sometimes it’s fitting to mourn.

For, then there are the foghorns. Each with a different tone, yet every one like a low full note pulled out of a cello in perfect vibrato. And maybe that’s why the clouds trouble the Earth at all, to give voice to their lament. To hear the music that makes up their sorrow and find the beauty in their grief. Could we all, in like prostration, not find comfort in a similar confession?

To, then, lift ourselves up washed white again after the greyness of grief?

The fog has lifted now. The sun is shining and the windows are warm to the touch.

The clouds move with renewed purpose. Perhaps the sun shines all the brighter through them for where they have been?