To find God, get Lost in the Woods

I grew up being raised Christian, and always felt that there was a God, and one who loved me. Jesus, though, has been more of a mystery to me.  I’ve struggled with divine birth, son-of-God among us. Most recently the truth I’ve unwrapped is that, whatever else I believe, Jesus was a real person who walked this earth.

So it was with some openness during the women’s retreat that I set out on a two-mile run/hike up to a summit where I’d been told there was a cross at the top, overlooking the valley. This could be a great moment for me, to really confront my sense of Jesus and move closer.

So you can imagine my disappointment, when after climbing through some forest scrub, the ridge of the last ascent to the cross is bordered by an enormous barbed wire fence. Finally I reach the cross, and directly adjacent to it is a huge cell phone tower with large warning signs “Do not come closer. Dangerously high radiation levels.” The view of the valley looks through the barbed wire to an open pit mine below and a strip mall behind. To top it off, there were two people lying down on benches in where I thought would be my quiet mediation spot.

What? This is it? I thought this was my turning moment to get closer to Jesus and  I’ve come to this ugly place? I quickly headed past the dangerously high radiation and followed the path down the other side, feeling irked and disappointed.

Then a quiet voice popped in my head. “Find God in the journey.”  I crossed a small brook and there were two dragonflies mating. I kept walking. I passed signs that the main trail was being closed for rehabitation, and I took a side spur. And another. And then I got lost in the woods.

And I realized for me, getting to know God and the dangerous person of Jesus won’t be a pinnacle on a hill. It will be a journey, and I will get blissfully lost in the woods, and there I will get to know myself and God better.

This morning I was going for a walk by myself and I unexpectedly came across a waterfall. God is here, I thought. I turned around, and in the middle of this remote and wooded path, I found a hair clip. It was a promise from God that my hair will grow back. It may be a year, it may be thirty years, but it will grow back. And I hope I will be open enough to continue to find God in the journey.