Walking with God
4.Make me know Your ways, O Lord;
Teach me Your paths.
5.Lead me in Your truth and teach me,
For You are the God of my salvation;
For You I wait all the day.
6.Remember, O Lord, Your compassion and Your loving kindnesses,
For they have been from of old.
7.Do not remember the sins of my youth or my transgressions;
According to Your lovingkindness remember me,
For Your goodness' sake, O Lord.
- Psalm 25:4-7
One of my most frequented places in Spokane is the Bluff trail behind our house. I have loved learning its quiet rhythms, its nooks and crannies, the character of different side trails, dips and turns. I know where fire had once been, and where a huge fallen pine had dented the hillside a year before and new life had grown in its place. I am trying to learn the native plants and animals and how they change season to season.
It is also a place that I find nearness to God. Seeking God’s counsel and company my own life’s ups and downs. I have walked in joy - adding my praise to the wonders of creation - and I have walked with tears streaming down my face, beating my fists against God’s proverbial chest in anger, sadness, and exhaustion. Occasionally the appearance of a red-tailed hawk or eagle have entered the conversation at the right moment to teach me of God’s ways.
Because of foot surgery the end of summer, and a cumbersome walking boot I wore for recovery, I hadn’t visited the trail for seven weeks. When I was able to return, I marveled at what had changed amidst the familiar paths. I had last hiked there in the peak of drought, plants that had thrived in previous seasons had been small and struggling, if alive at all. Even the poison ivy that had thrived midsummer was shrunken and shriveled. The grasses had been long dried up and a general dust and dryness covered the terrain. Wildfire smoke and heat had stiffed the air, making it hard to enjoy the journey.
Sometimes, I relate more to this undulating landscape than a well-tended garden. Parts of me are scorched from past fires, dented from the impact of others, and harboring all sorts of native characteristics that grow whether I like it or not. My person harbors both wildflowers, poison ivy and a whole lot of things too ordinary to take notice. I too have had seasons of drought, struggling to get what I need to thrive spiritually, and I have ongoing struggles with health and healing as I enter midlife.
Because of this, I felt God’s reassurance as I returned to the Bluff after a time away. When I returned, a new season had come. Rain had not only freshened the soil but brought back grass like spring. The fresh green mixed with the glory of autumn colors, gold to orange to red, and everything in between. I was awed by Latah Creek reflecting blue sky and colors of the rainbow in the surrounding foliage.
In just a few weeks, this trail had been transformed. It was still recognizable, but it was also decidedly in a new season. It had not been abandoned to drought and heat and smoke.
I too feel the hope of new seasons, both literal and otherwise. Change comes with grief, with the loss of how things have been, but change can also bring new life, new beauty and re-growth of areas thought dead. And in time, I may have moments to reflect God’s beauty and presence.
And in it all, we walk. and God walks with us. Whether in drought or in downpour, in winter, spring or autumn, God walks with us. God knows the trails of our souls better than we do ourselves. God loves us as one who observes, cherishes and heals.
Never be afraid to trust an unknown future to a known God. -Corrie Ten Boom
How would you describe the season you are in right now?
What parts of you do you need to trust with God into a new season?
What is growing that you need to take notice of?
-Lin Preiss