I returned home to a sacred place in the region in the Apache Sitgreaves National Forest. It’s a place where in my teens I experienced God in a substantial way. Just a few miles out of the town where I lived, I would often hop on my motorcycle and make my way to the picnic and trailhead area of the South Fork Colorado River that could be reached by driving down a winding road into the park area. Covered by the vegetation of the area, and home to ponderosa pine that made an awning in the little valley there, it seemed that no matter how hot the day was, the shade there would knock the temperature down a few degrees. Back then I also had a sense of smell (which I would lose in a car accident a few years later), so I vaguely remember the smell of the pine and forest, especially around the river. I would often come down to this spot to read, pray, and contemplate. My relationship with God was blossoming in that time, just like spring would make the place pop with all the senses and colors, there were moments when I would hear God, or sense God, and ‘catch a glimpse’ of Him in that place. However, most of what I held in my heart in that time were questions – as I sat in the quiet of nature’s sounds.

This day I wandered down this curving road, seeing a rock face of the wall where in high school, I remember a drive when a friend told me a story about him climbing it with a friend. This road winded back as I watched the reception bars on my cell service tumble down on my phone like the BB gun target practice I remember doing with cans on a on fence when I was growing up. The silence at the trailhead included the start of the trail, but also the separation from civilization too. A most welcome separation.

Starting down the trail, I was drawn into the moment right away. Not being able to smell it like all those years ago, yet still, the way the light filtered through the pines took me right back to the nostalgic presentness of being alone in the forest there. I came to a spot in the river (which is more like a stream by the standards of other places I’ve lived), and took a moment to squat down to touch the water, and listen to the current. I took a big sigh – either breathing in the moment, or breathing out the past 33 years…or maybe both. In that moment the ancient words of David came to mind, “He leads me beside peaceful streams.” I remember this stream, and I’ve felt this ‘leading’ many times in the journey. Not just here, but in other places: New Mexico, Georgia, Colorado, Hawaii, Washington, California – the list goes on. And maybe all those places were echoes of this place – and this reality.

I continued down the trail feeling the forest floor carpeted with pine needles below my feet, which seemed to spring my step along the trail. The trail ran along the river, and as it did, I couldn’t help but to recall, “He renews my strength. He guides me along right paths, bringing honor to his name.” About half a mile in, the thick forest started to thin into scars of a past forest fire. The thinned woodland turned into a graveyard of fallen conifer that lined the trail like a war zone. As I walked the trail, which seemed to last the next mile, there was a sunken feeling in my heart. A sadness for the ways things play out in life. While it’s all a part of the natural order of things, one can’t help to grieve. My ‘spring’ turned into a bit of a trudge, as the pine needles turned to weeds. The ground still held moisture from a recent snowfall, and in the mud I saw prints of what looked like elk, as well as human, as well as a dog, as well as…prints that looked much like a wildcat – if not to my amateur eye, at least to my wild imagination. The thought got me walking faster and looking around the ridgeline. In that place, what shot through my mind were the Psalmist’s words, “Even when I walk through the darkest valley, I will not be afraid, for you are close beside me.”

As the elevation increased, fallen trees covered the path, and icy snow blocked the way, I thought about turning back, but thought: “But when will I have a chance to return?” So, I kept on. Eventually, tree coverage came back, and toward the end of the trail was a place where a stream crossing was required. Happily leaving the burnt out forest behind, I stepped across – testing the rocks that I used as my path, along the way. Making one last climb up the mountain, I was able to see surrounding mountains that held snow proudly on their crests, seemingly welcoming me into their home. As I stopped, and let my legs feel the blood running through them, as I breathed the slightly thinner air of 8,000 ft, I took a breath and thought: “Surely your goodness and unfailing love will pursue me all the days of my life.” As I stood there still, I was taking in this reality that His goodness and loyal love chased me to this moment. This moment where I remember the beginning.

As I walked back, I remembered the weight of these thoughts. And that 15 year old me, with my motorcycle and my leather jacket, and with a mind full of hope and wonder and a heart of longing, would one day be back. I would never have guessed that when I would be over 3x that age I would come back to climb the mountain that fed that stream. And I wouldn’t know that the peaceful stream that I’d often sit at would one day be in danger of the fires of the wild. But that’s why we must sit at streams. And now, here in the 2nd half of life, I’m able to look back in wisdom, glad that I sat by the peaceful stream all those years ago. And after braving the charred mountain years later, as I made my way down the trail to the trailhead, I once again sat at the stream for a moment – in the place where the soul is restored once again. Maybe this time with even more questions, but also with a peaceful assurance of the Good Shepherd.