Drinking in

Anne of Green Gables was one of my most cherished and often-revisited stories as a girl. In high school, I played the part of Marilla in our school’s production of it. While Anne’s flair for drama always drew me in, there was something about Marilla that felt deeply relatable — her hardened exterior, which seemed more of a protective armor for the sensitive soul underneath.

This week, I began noticing the signs of spring peeking out from the dark spaces of the dry winter brush. I think one reason hiking has become so significant to me this year is that it forces me to take notice of things outside myself. My inner life has always been loud. Walking the trails helps me mark the small things, like the changes in color and texture, the scent of nature withdrawing and then re-emerging. Things that don’t depend upon me.

In one of my favorite scenes from the Anne series, Marilla responds with a hint of irritation when Anne surprises her by coming home early from Carmody one spring afternoon with an armload of wildflowers. She tells Marilla, as she pushes them in her face, “Smell them, drink them in!” Anne was oftentimes forcing Marilla to notice the small but grand things. Marilla needed that. She was a soul full of questions about the if-onlys and what-ifs. I imagine her inner life was pretty loud. Regrets, self-criticism, and doubt probably kept her busy enough. Anne’s presence brought an opportunity for Marilla to accept her humanness, to take note of life’s fragility and recognize the joy in simply being even when she felt like she had very little to show for her life.

Nature’s small adjustments, evidenced by the onset of each new season, help us to notice that our smallness is actually a gift. In a world that constantly makes us question whether we are truly known, God’s creation sings quietness over us. The if-onlys and the what-ifs fade, and the turmoil of our minds slows down. The “drinking in” of it transports us to a reality where our being is all that is necessary.