People of all times, ages, and kinds have come to the Redwoods in search of beauty and peace. I can, like others, testify to the awesome richness and quietness that one finds when they arrive. It is unlike any other I know.
Stands of trees soar into the sky well beyond the length of a football field. Walking through gives everyone a sense of our relative size here on earth and in the universe. Between the stands are oaks, firs, brown grasses, lazy creeks, and the occasional sounds of a logging truck rumbling by.
Time seems to have no meaning in this context. It is, but then it isn’t. Anything you do while in the forest seems to be in a time detached from everything else. You can escape and then return while the forest sits quietly waiting for no one. You can yell and scream until there is no air left in your lungs; things continue on as they were before. You can walk in silence, taking care to leave the steps past in the same conditions as the steps future, and you will carry a sense of belonging to something far more grand than you can imagine.
Taking time apart allows one to refocus, gain perspective, and seek the time we all seem to lack. While individual responses vary, I found myself drifting into a sense of being superior. After all, I was the one who took time away, I sought the Presence and found far more than I ever thought possible, and I took time to walk as one. As I elevated myself the words of warning came.
“Remember, you aren’t feeding the root; the root is feeding you.” (Romans 11.18) You came but what did you give? You sat but did you share? You made lots of noise but did you realize that I was actually listening?
I tend to forget God and where I am. God tells me not to worry; He is the center, my source, and my path. God loves you and I more than we can ever dream.