“Shrouded” … one of my favorite words. I see mountains shrouded in clouds, and I get a little mix of peace and intrigue. Men, women, children, are sometimes shrouded … in something, or by something … a phenomenon not always “nice”, but sometimes messy. This morning, I’m thinking of men shrouded … shrouded in the places of hiding: places of perceived meaningfulness; places that are considered safe; places where wounded warriors go, with hopes of healing. The man is shrouded. Maybe, his glory is shrouded.
“Who are you?”
“Where are you?”
“What is your calling?”
Two questions for you: 1) have you ever sensed this … men shrouded in something, metaphorically “the clouds”?; and 2) do you have any thoughts about glory … your glory? It’s been said, that we are more aware of our ______________ (blank … fill it in … one word could be “shame”) than we are (aware) of our glory. I think of glory as something that shines. Glory is bright, powerful, indicative of man-fully-alive unleashed in an honorable manifestation. So, again: we are more aware of our … shame … than we are of our glory. And the glory can be intimidating: glory is bright and therefore hiding is more difficult; glory means, on some level, being known … more disruptive than not being known. Here is another image. This is a an odd little shelter, up on the road to Mount Evans, just about 100 yards off the main trail head.
Stepping into this little hut was a little weird. It felt pretty good. I didn’t stay long because I knew that I could find myself shrouded, inside this little shelter … and this was not where I was supposed to be. And that … is a loaded idea: to be where we are supposed to be. An individual who tells you where you are supposed to be, might be wrong. Either way, the pressure men and women feel about finding that place to be is a very real force that can throw us off our game.