a week in the woods, part three — bridge out ahead

Do you ever do this — you’re driving down some back, country road and come upon a set of warning gates situated out in the middle of the road which alert you to “BRIDGE OUT AHEAD”, but there’s enough room to wiggle your vehicle between — or around — them, so you drive ahead anyway just to see for yourself that yes, indeed, the bridge is out. Do you do that? I’ve done that. Many a time. I can hear those gates/signs: “Where’s the trust?!?”

But what if there’s no sign? No gate? No warning? What if you don’t know? Or .. what if you do?

Hold that thought.

So my first morning at the lake, after seeing Patrick off for his first full a.m.-to-mid-p.m. day of fishing for walleye, I hunkered for coffee and devo time before lacing up my trail shoes, donning my fave light hoodie, and heading to the woods. First stop was the information center where I grabbed a sheet on the Simpson Creek Trail and shoved that in my pocket. Then off I went. Soft pine needles beneath my feet, tall tall pine trees in every direction. The smell? Oh, my goodness. The sounds — well, until you get in there a ways, there’s a bit of light highway traffic noise, but that quickly gives way to the chirping of birds, the barking of squirrels and the tap-tap-tapping of woodpeckers.

I’m not even joking when I say I could not stop smiling. Seriously. Not that we don’t have any trails here in Wichita, but come on — really? Not like this! I was in heaven!! I went bounding down that trail like nobody’s business. New territory! Fresh air! Hills!! I didn’t even mind when a squirrel would get after me. And if you’ve not ever had a squirrel “bitch” at you, well, let me tell ya — they do a pretty good job of sounding like they’re gonna come right down out of the tree and bite your ankle. But I’ve heard a gazillion squirrels before, so I just yelled “Good morning!” and kept on trucking. It didn’t take long to get winded — combination out of shape and running like I actually have hops .. which I don’t. But oh my goodness, did it feel good. That’s the really cool thing about running naked — I mean: no watch, no Garmin, no HR monitor, no iPod — I didn’t know how fast or slow I was going and I didn’t care. For the moment, I felt like I was flying! 

Sort of a challenge, that trail. I adore trail running, I really do.  Crunchy and organic. Just enough ups and downs and roots and uneven ground you have to keep an eye down on that trail to ensure you don’t take a header .. but with all that nature around me and all those tall, stately pines enveloping me, how could I not tip my chin upwards to try to find sky up there somewhere? Takes .. oh, about a minute to grasp onto the concept of IMMENSITY. You know — there I was in one teeny tiny little corner of the world, one small however-many-thousand acre forest and it felt gigantic. And I .. felt small. Teeny-tiny. Minute. You know where I’m going with this?? When I slowed to a walk, my jaw dropped to catch my breath, yes .. but also for the awe of the little ol’ me conundrum. There I was, one teeny tiny little speck of a person in what felt like a gigantic forest but is really just one teeny tiny speck of a corner of this immense universe .. and God’s got his eye on me. You know — knows every hair on my head, knows my every thought, calls each star in the sky by name…

Psalm 139:1-6 (NLT)

 ¹ O Lord, you have examined my heart
      and know everything about me.
 ² You know when I sit down or stand up.
      You know my thoughts even when I’m far away.
 ³ You see me when I travel
      and when I rest at home.
      You know everything I do.
 ⁴ You know what I am going to say
      even before I say it, Lord.
 ⁵ You go before me and follow me.
      You place your hand of blessing on my head.
 ⁶ Such knowledge is too wonderful for me,
      too great for me to understand!

That first morning was the first of many conversations during the week in which I received a healthy dose of “Silly girl — I’m God.” I was repeatedly chided for attempting — feebly though it was — to place worldly, human measurements and limitations on his immensity. There is no measure. No limits. Nothing’s too big. Or too small, for that matter. How does one fathom that power? That capability? That all-knowingness? I figuratively scratched my head a lot in the woods last week.

So .. I bounded along the trail, oh so very happy. I followed the blue diamonds on the trees and, at the crossings, referred to the trail maps posted on wooden signs. Of course, it was much easier to refer to the paper one in my pocket as I could spin it around to distinguish direction easier than trying to cock my head or contort my body in relation to the posted maps. I leapt over tree roots, leaned forward on the uphills and shortened my stride on the uneven downhills. I dodged sloshy spots and soaked my shoes and socks in the dewy morning grass. My plan was “stay left going in, stay right coming out” and for the most part, that worked just fine in the tangle of trails. Pausing at one crossroads, I conferred my map to gauge distance. Considering I wasn’t carrying anything with me — no water, no nothing — I decided to try to limit this first excursion to under 6 or 7 miles total. I had options on which way to go. Ooop, wait — new symbol. What does that mean? Hmm, steep hill? Cool, I gotta see that! And I headed off down the sections of trail that would take me there, which appeared to be leading me toward a creek crossing. Excellent!

I get all the way down there, wind my way around a big bunch of downed trees and on a path between fairly tall grasses out to this opening on my side of the creek. I look ahead. Oop, bridge is out! Serious?!? I climb out as far as I can go but yeah, it’s out. And we’re talking about a creek spot and little pool which isn’t of the leap-across variety. Crap. I look both directions. No way across to my right. And wow, would have to wind around quite a ways to my left. I know that steep hill is over there somewhere .. but I can’t see it. A bit disappointed, I hung out there awhile, on the broken-down, decrepit what’s-left-of-it bridge. All of a sudden there came a big commotion off to my left. My head snapped that direction. A flash of brown behind a thick stand of bushes. Stomping sounds off through the trees. Yeah, probably just a deer, but dang it, I wanted to see it!

After a bit, I maneuvered my way back through to the clearer trail and made my way back through the woods. I’d run a little, jog a little, walk a little. All week long was this debate: 

Shall we run?
Sure. Jog or scamper?
Hmm, jog.
Okay.
(jog)
Feels more like a scamper.
Well, if you want to scamper, then let’s really scamper, shall we?

At one point on the way back, I stopped suddenly, something compelling me to reach down and pick up this teeny tiny little pine cone. Now of the gazillion pine cones in the forest, why that one? No clue. But I did. And thereby the conundrum of immensity was bantered about again. Like .. I could not fathom hiding — or merely just dropping — that particular pine cone and then returning to the woods the following day and thinking I stood any chance in the world of finding it again. It was like I could hear God laughing at me. All while he’s thinking “child’s play”. Pick a pine cone, any pine cone, I’ll pluck it out for ya. As I went on, that pine cone in my palm, I thought it must be about the time of the prayer walk at the new church I’ve been visiting. They’ve found a home at a venue downtown to use each Sunday and this particular Sunday, instead of a regular church service, all attendees were going to walk through this new neighborhood, praying. Sure, I was nearly 1,000 miles away, but I figured I could pray too. So I did. Out loud.

While I’m not inhibited at all in carrying on imaginary conversations with God, there’s something about me simply praying to him that unnerves me a bit. Maybe it’s some long-held notion of what prayer is supposed to be and wondering if I’m doing it right or whatever. Utter silliness! And yet… Still, I moved as best as I could beyond any inhibitions and prayed — out loud — for the church, for the walkers, for any/all those folks they might come into contact with this Sunday morning. That little pine cone in my hand felt very symbolic, in a way — reminding me that sure, I’m just one small person, but my prayers can still make an impact. So I’m walking and praying and carrying my pine cone in my hand … and I haven’t been at this very long, maybe 4 minutes or so and—

Pause. By this juncture I’ve probably been on the trail for nearly 2 hours and have yet to meet a soul beyond the birds, squirrels, woodpeckers and whatever brown animal it was that went bounding away into the forest…

—wouldn’t you know, here come 3 guys coming down the trail toward me. Seriously? I start praying out loud and now I run into someone? Crap! Well, I shut up, for starters, saying hello in passing, of course. And for whatever reason, I tucked away the pine cone into the front pocket of my hoodie. The guys continue on their way and I pick up the pace and get back to business. But as I thought about it later, that entire six-second incident threw me. Why’d I tuck the pine cone away? Is that symbolic of something? Was it symbolic of tucking away my faith? Just as troublesome as tucking away that pine cone — small, dry, fragile as it was, was the fact I allowed it to break in my pocket. I got distracted, lost my focus even but for a few moments, I was careless and look what happened. Is faith like that? I’d like to think faith is like a strong sturdy tree — weathering the seasons, swaying and bending in storms perhaps but not breaking. So .. was this symbolic of my focus? My obedience? That’s way more likely. Makes way more sense.

However you slice it, I came out of the woods after trail scamper #1 with a slew of thoughts and lessons and reminders. Right then and there I knew I was in for something this week. Holy cow! Bring it, Big Guy! I’ll keep coming back to the woods. Let’s keep talking!

So earlier, I asked you to hold that thought.

Flash ahead to Friday. Final day. Final visit to the Simpson Creek Trail. Same favorite, thin, brown Psycho Wyco hoodie, same trail shoes. Camera in tow so I could capture the essence of this place I’d fallen in love with all week. I knew without a doubt I wanted to go back to where I went on morning number one. I knew the bridge was out. I knew I wouldn’t see that steep hill. Wasn’t sure if I’d actually get to see that deer or whatever big, brown animal was out there. I’d been down this road before, so to speak, but I felt compelled to go back. I’m electing not to share more at this very moment because there are other things/lessons/reminders I garnered during the week which are foundational to the Friday story, so I’ll have to come back to this, if that’s okay. Let’s just say, despite knowing the bridge was out and despite Friday being my final day on the trail, God did not disappoint. He finished my week with as simple and as profound a lesson as he started it with. Bookends, if you will.

For now, I leave you with the first 3 bits of scripture I studied upon getting back to cabin #7 on that first morning. Enjoy.

Matthew 10:29-31

²⁹ What is the price of two sparrows—one copper coin? But not a single sparrow can fall to the ground without your Father knowing it. ³⁰ And the very hairs on your head are all numbered. ³¹ So don’t be afraid; you are more valuable to God than a whole flock of sparrows.

Psalm 147:4-5

 ⁴ He counts the stars
      and calls them all by name.
 ⁵ How great is our Lord! His power is absolute!
      His understanding is beyond comprehension!

Isaiah 40:26

 ²⁶ Look up into the heavens.
      Who created all the stars?
   He brings them out like an army, one after another,
      calling each by its name.
   Because of his great power and incomparable strength,
      not a single one is missing.