A Sense of Place ~ Valerie Ronald

There is a phrase echoing around in my mind, simpler to describe than to define ˗˗ a sense of place.

It is warm golden pine needles carpeting the ground, spicing the air with each cushioned footstep. It is shafts of sunlight dropping down through tree columns, alive with dancing dust and insects. It is the rhythmic sound of waves swelling and receding, growing louder as the shoreline comes into view. Once beyond the trees, it is drawing in big breaths of salt-rich air, then kicking off my shoes and burying my toes in the sand, more fully alive here by the sea than anywhere else.

By the sea is where I derive my deepest sense of place, a setting for joyful contemplation when all goes well and for comfort when solace is sought. Walking along its shores gazing at the layers of moving water, distant mountains, and wind-swept clouds, my soul finds nurture and peace. I don’t live near it anymore but in some tender corner of my heart the sea will always draw me. I was happiest there as a child and dream of living near it again someday.

“Place is where meaning, belonging, and safety come together under the covering of our best efforts at unconditional love,” writes author Randy Kilgore. “Place beckons us with memories buried deep in our souls. Even when our place isn’t perfect, its hold on us is dramatic, magnetic.”

Place, that idyllic memory evoked by emotions connected to it. For me it is more a person than a physical setting. Yes, my heart responds to some places more than others, where special memories have their roots or beauty stirs me. At some point those places may be changed or even destroyed, but the One who gives me the most secure, eternal sense of place will be forever present.

Jesus Christ said, “Abide in Me, and I will abide in you.” (John 15:4 NIV) What a strange concept that must have been to the disciples listening to Him. Abide? Live in? Take up residence in Jesus? When read in context of the metaphor of the vine and the branches in John 15, abiding in Jesus makes sense. He is our vine, our source of spiritual nourishment so we, the branch, can bear spiritual fruit. Important as spiritual fruit is, it is not the main reason for Jesus wanting us to abide in Him. His desire is for intimacy with His beloved child, a sense of connection only achieved by living as close to Him as possible. Abiding, remaining˗˗when our inner spirit, the truest essence of who we are, takes up residence in the heart of Jesus. It sounds a bit mystical. True spirituality is a mystery, but the practice of it is simple. Spend time with Jesus. Seek, long for, thirst after, engage, know, hear and respond to … Jesus. Find Him in His Word, talk to Him in prayer, listen for His voice in your spirit, live in Him.

Being by the ocean gives me a sense of place because of significant personal epiphanies I have experienced there. Yet I have learned that my truest sense of place happens in my spiritual abode, the heart of Jesus, a place of love. “As the Father has loved Me, so have I loved you. Now abide in My love.” (John 15:9)

Valerie Ronald writes from an old roll top desk in Portage la Prairie, Manitoba, with her tortoiseshell cat for a muse. A graduate of Langara College School of Journalism, she writes devotionals, fiction and inspirational prose. Her purpose in writing is to encourage others to grow in their spiritual walk.

Place Matters by Lorrie Orr

 

In this month's prompt we are invited to write about the setting of our writing. 

We all exist in time and place. I invite you to share how the setting of your life, the landscape around you, broad or narrow, finds its place in your writing? How does setting affect you? For some writers, the setting becomes as powerful as a character in the story. Alternatively, write a paragraph or two describing yourself or another character in a particular setting.

The relentless sun beats down, but it is the intense humidity that leaves me limp and drained of energy. I know a storm is brewing. Just when the heat becomes unbearable, I hear the rain coming like a rush of wind across the dense jungle. Within seconds it's as if the sluice gates of heaven have opened. Water drums on the roof of the house. It bounces in the puddles soon formed by the unrelenting downpour. The deafening sound carries on throughout the night. We sleep, oh, so soundly, hearing nothing but the steady deluge outside. By morning the storm moves on, the air is fresh and sweet, and we awaken with renewed motivation for the day ahead.

After moving to Canada in the early 2000s, I first heard the song He Reigns by The Newsboys. There is a line about the volume of believers singing that had me thinking about how loud that noise must be to be heard over rain in the Amazon. And I wondered how anyone who had not experienced the overwhelming din of a jungle rain could even grasp the intensity of it. It's a great line. Having experienced many Amazon rainstorms, I have perhaps a tiny bit more understanding than someone who has never lived anywhere but Victoria where the rain is much more gentle.

In many works of literature, the place, or setting, becomes a character. The Shire in J. R. R. Tolkien's works set in Middle-Earth represents an idyllic and comforting place of security. Who of us would not love to curl up in an easy chair in a Hobbit hole with a cup of tea and a friend to visit with?

Late Nights on Air by Elizabeth Hay is set in Yellowknife, in the far north of Canada. When I read the book the landscape became as vivid as a character. I loved the descriptions of the vastness, the wildlife, the effect of a sun that never set. Hays knew the landscape and was able to convey the beauty and isolation of the North in a way that made it real to me although I had never seen it myself. L. M. Montgomery's heroes Anne and Emily (among others) live on Prince Edward Island. Reading her books over and over again, I learned of the red soil and the gentle curves of the landscape, so much so that when I did finally visit PEI, those things were familiar to me.

Images and metaphors of place abound in Scripture. Psalm 23 speaks of our Shepherd Lord making us lie down in green pastures, leading us beside quiet waters, and guiding us in paths of righteousness. The author could have said, "Relax. God will take of you and guide you." Instead, the imagery of a peaceful place guarded by a caring shepherd enhanced by specific details elicits emotions of trust.

Place. It matters. And as writers, it matters that we get our facts straight. I once read a story that included the lovely sweet fragrance of the colourful bougainvillea vines that drape over rooftops and fenLoces in lands more southerly than Canada. "Hmmm," I thought, "I don't remember bougainvillea having much of a scent." So I looked it up. I was correct. Pollinators are attracted by the bright colours that lack any scent. That small incorrect detail made me question other descriptors the author used.

To write about place we must engage all the senses of our readers so that they can picture in their minds the setting of our stories. God has placed each one of us in specific settings that we experience in unique ways. Psalm 18:19 says, "He brought me out into a spacious place," - a metaphor for a life of freedom. I am so thankful for this place and want to convey that sense of freedom in Christ that can exist in any physical setting that I write.

Lorrie Orr writes from Vancouver Island where winter is giving way to spring.