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Carved out of walls of the Alto Frio canyon in central Texas, Laity Lodge was the site of a four day retreat with artists and pastors from around the world. I arrived there last Thursday afternoon not really knowing what to expect. Amongst the surprises God had in store for me was poet, writer, and bunjy chord jumper Luci Shaw. On Friday morning Luci shared with us the following list she received from her mentor and former college professor Clyde Kilby. Dr. Kilby was her English professor at Wheaton College.

It was entitled, “For Mental Health”…

1. At least once a day I shall look steadily up at the sky and remember that I, a consciousness with a conscience, am on a planet traveling in space with everlasting mysterious things above and about me.

2. Instead of the accustomed idea of a mindless and endless evolutionary movement in which I can neither add nor subtract, I shall suppose the universe guided by an Intelligence which (as Aristotle said of Greek drama) requires a beginning, a middle, and an end. I think this will save me from the cynicism expressed by Bertrand Russell before his death when he said, “There is darkness without, and when I die there will be darkness within. There is no splendor, no vastness anywhere, only triviality for a moment and then nothing.”

3. I shall not fall into the falsehood that this day, or any day, is merely another ambiguous and plodding twenty-four hours, but rather a unique opportunity filled, if I so wish, with worthy potentialities.

4. I shall not be a fool enough to suppose that trouble and pain are wholly evil parentheses in my existence, but just as likely ladders to be climbed toward God and spiritual personhood.

5. I shall not turn my life into a thin straight line, which prefers abstractions to reality. I shall think what I am doing when I abstract, which of course I shall often have to do.

6. I shall not demean my own uniqueness by envy of others. I shall stop boring into myself to discover what psychological and social categories I might belong to. Mostly I shall simply forget about myself and do my work.

7. I shall open my eyes and look. Once every day I shall simply stare at a tree, a flower, a cloud, a person. I shall not then be concerned at all to ask what they are but simply be glad that they are. I shall joyfully allow the mystery of what Lewis called “divine, magical, terrifying, and ecstatic experiences.”

8. I shall sometimes look back at a freshness of vision I had in childhood and try, at least for a little while, to be, in the words of Lewis Carroll, the “child of pure, unclouded brow and brimming eyes of wonder.”

9. I shall try to follow Darwin’s advice and turn frequently to imaginative things such as literature and good music — preferably, as Lewis suggested, an old book and timeless music.

10. I shall not allow the devilish onrush of this century to usurp all my energies but will instead, as Charles Williams advised, “Fulfill the moment as the moment.” I shall try to keep truly alive now just because the only time that exists is now.

11. If for nothing more than the sake of a change of view, I shall assume my ancestry to be from the heavens rather than from caves.

12. Even if I turn out to be wrong, I shall build my life on the assumption that this world is not idiotic, nor run by an absentee landlord, but that today, this very day, some stroke is being added to the cosmic canvas that in due course I shall understand with joy, as a stroke made by the architect who calls Himself Alpha and Omega.

But the LORD was my stay.

He brought me forth also into a broad place. (Psalm 18)

More than twenty years ago I went for my first backpacking trip. I spent eight days in the mountains near Taos, New Mexico with ten other guys.

I still have very vivid memories of that excursion. I remember being in awe of the immensity of the backcountry; I had never felt so small in comparison to the land. Nor had I felt that removed from civilization. It was peaceful. Of course, I remember the rain, blisters, leaky tents, and food shortages, too. It was the combination of the beauty and the struggle, feeling small and alive all at once that still lingers in my memory.

Those eight days connected countless sermons and Bible lessons with tangible reminders in the in God’s creation. I came away with a better grasp of God’s powerful and abundant presence.

All these years later, as a teacher and pastor, I can’t think of a better classroom in which to consider the Gospel. Go outside. Leave the confines and routines; leave the creature comforts and the indulgences. Spend time outside considering the truth of God’s mission to save us from sin.

The outdoors, then, offers us a chance to stand in a physical space that mirrors our spiritual reality in Christ.

God has rescued us from the clutches of death. The familiarity of this life-changing truth is in danger of not being heard! Allow the images of God on a mission in Psalm 18 to clear the cobwebs!

He has taken us from a hole-turned-grave and brought us into a broad place in mind, body, and spirit for His glory.