I don’t know what you do to refuel, recharge, refresh – but for me, it can only happen when I’m in a place where I feel the love of God in the purest form: the country. Now, I’m not talking about urban sprawl in the country; I’m talking about being so deep that the person closest to you is in the airplane flying two miles over your head.
Sometimes I feel like a pretty crappy human. And while I don’t necessarily do bad things, my heart and my attitude make up for that. Sometimes all I want to do is scream like a little girl, “It’s all your fault!” and slam the door shut, and sit on the floor of life and cry while hugging my knees. With that kind of emotional rebellion, it’s absolutely difficult to remember that God somehow loves me in that moment. Because, in that moment, I’m pretty sure He doesn’t.
But then I come out here, where all I can hear if I concentrate are the birds, the bugs and the wind. There’s no sign that anyone else on earth exists; it’s just God and me.
For me, that’s where I know without a doubt, unequivocally, that God loves me. It doesn’t matter what I’ve done or to whom I’ve done it; what matters is, there in that moment, I know the peace of God can surpass all understanding.
It’s like He knew I was going to throw a tantrum like a little girl yesterday, so He created that piece of granite for me to climb onto as He holds me in His gracious arms and whispers into my ear, “I love you.” Why? I don’t know. How? It’s beyond me. But what I know is this: Even when I don’t love myself, much less the people around me, when I’m here, with God’s sweet, gentle, disciplining hand, I know He still loves me.
 Philippians 4:7