If you read nothing else from Day 2, read this. It’s my story of the day for March 14, 2008, of the Mount Hermon Christian Writing Conference.
Someone told me to walk in the red woods, so I went looking for the nature trail before breakfast. The signs were clear. I followed the arrows and found myself brushing against swordferns, peeking into old hollowed sequoias, walking through an honest to gosh forest.
In Texas the trees are only five feet tall, so our forests feel very different from most forests.
And I found God on that trail. It was narrow and steep. God was in the mud. He was in the spider webs that stuck on my cheeks. The stream was the voice of God. The I heard God blowing through the valley. I heard God in the stream. I saw him near campsite 2 down by the water side, at the bottom of a swimming hole. Waiting for me at the bottom. I wanted to jump in. I wanted to. But I knew it would be a shock to my system.
On and on. Wonders at every turn. The trail was a miracle cliché that helped me see trees again.
I left the woods refreshed as Thoreau. Yawping like Whitman—but under my breath so folks wouldn’t notice. I was ready. Wendell and I would do something that doesn’t compute: “Love the Lord. Love the world. Work for nothing.â€
Life is good. The world is filled with possibilities. And God has set us free.
Back at the main area, I pulled out my conference center map to find the first session. And there it was. In small print at the bottom, where the trail led off the map to common grace, a small x and “thou shalt notâ€: TRAIL IS CLOSED.
Don’t you hate that? Oh, the rule wouldn’t keep me out. I’m used to breaking rules. But now my heart would hurt just a bit on that trail. Shame might muffle my yawps. I might start working for money. I might forget again to love the world.
Too often the Christian community does this to each other.
I found God on a closed trail. And I don’t care what the map says anymore.
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