One morning recently, I took a glorious walk. It was needed and overdue. Being well along into the usual path-loop a gentle heart-nudge pulled me off into the woods. Spontaneously! Oh yeahā¦ I felt the old familiar tug from days gone by. Long ago! A favorite woodland path that I took in my younger years.
Iām a woodland gal. Earthy to the bone! And Iām ok with that. Itās been said that an earthy person, was not necessarily a label to be desired. Is it that the thoughts of dirty, maybe odorous or unclean come to mind in association with an earthy person? If so, may I share with you what my searching about the real meaning of an earthy person produced. Such terms as open and direct, reliable, responsible, supportive, down to earth and practical, sometimes introverted preferring solitary activities over socializing, drawn to nature and outdoors, thrifty and frugal. So the truth is, as Iāve aged Iāve became even more earthy and I do actually like my own company!
Having been in kind of a limbo condition for several weeks now, breathing the woodland aromas this morning awakened the old tribal lore of my ancestors, whether real or imagined, and as I walked, a searching for my soul feeling, begin to develop. Having lost myself lately with all the turbulence in the universe including atmospheric
events, geographic events, world events, national events, political events and even closer home events defined in circles of family, friends and religion, Iāve become kinda stuck. But the mustering up has begun. Of things like, new courage to approach life with a more spiritual outlook, because some days, Iāve felt like quitting. Some days, Iāve questioned my faith and my sanity. Yes, I really have!
So my walk in the woods, reminded me of my roots. The ones connected to Momma. And Pops. And Grandma. And Auntie. And Father God. They go deep; back to those before me. Just like those trees that swayed back and forth this morning as I stood looking up through them toward the sky, beginning as seedlings coming from the plantings of those before them. As I further meditate on my roots, I remember that mine are different. They did not come from monkeys. Or birds. Or reptiles. Those are things of a different flesh. My roots are of the human species. And humans came from the earth. Or at least the flesh did. I am a spirit just living in this flesh body. Both are real and alive. My flesh pulls me to the earth and it needs things of the earth to live. And my earthy body person really does influence my everyday life. But the real me is spirit. And I have the tools given by Father God to have dominion over my earthy stuff. Even in the scriptures Apostle Paul speaks about the struggle he had with his flesh warring against his spirit. I do believe that in this world, we must nurture our flesh a tad bit and keep it healthy and satisfied. Maybe as we mature and grow in the spirit, the flesh requires less natural things as it learns to be led, fed and controlled more by the spirit. I do not know or have all the answers. But my soul ponders, still the same.
This morning my earthy person had dominance for a brief while. And my soul realm got filled. With the loudness of the woodpecker who relentlessly hammered on a tree close by. It briefly dominated the orchestra sounds that were homed within the trees, like the big drum of a marching parade, almost drowning out the chirping of other birds. Then as it paused my ears tuned in to the twilling voices of the lesser volumed tweeting birds complimenting and adding melody to the ensemble, just like violins and flutes.
I donāt know the varied bird species very well. Iām familiar with the robin. And the cardinal. But I recall my Aunt Letha. My Popās sister. Letha Jennings Booth. She resided in Wirt and Wood counties most all of her life. When she was widowed and aged, Pops brought her to Nobe to visit and eventually to live full time with us until her death. Aunt Letha used to sit on our front porch. We had two large maple trees in the front yard back in those days. They shaded the yard and porch. These maple trees were my playground at times sitting high up in those branches. They were also home or at least perching place to many birds. My Aunt Letha knew birds. And sitting in our porch swing, gently swaying back and forth, she would mimic the birds calls. That little stooped back lady, short in structure, could make sounds exactly like the birds in the maple trees. Or so it seemed to me! And her crackled voice would wax strong as she told her stories. She directed much of her conversation to her brother Fred, who was āPopsā to me. And they would sit and reminisce remembering their days growing up. Some of these stories later popped up (no pun intended) in Popās memoir that he wrote in his last days. Stories such as the big flood of Parkersburg and how he and his
brothers found a duck egg as the waters receded. The Jennings family lived in a small house behind where the old Parkersburg Greyhound Bus Station used to be on Fifth St., not far from the flood wall. Beside the house was Jenningsā Store. A small building where William West Jennings and his wife Josephine maintained a neighborhood business. This is where their youngest son Fred (my Pops) and his dog Jack played in the narrow alley between the house and store. Killed rats if I remember the story correctly. That small building and house are still there today. But again, Iāve strayed from todayās adventure.
The woodpecker soon grew distant as I continued my short climb back up the hill of the family farm, following the path around the pond. Familiar items caught my eye. The old John boat at waterās edge, being gently rocked by the breeze. The Fishing Chair, that once held my late husband at another pond edge. Frogs and tadpoles playing in the morning sunshine, rippling the water as they jumped and chased each other, totally unaware of my gazes and presence. A small floating device bobbed around in the water moving across to the other side. I absorbed the scene, then continued on.
My shoes made crunching sounds in the gravel as I meandered on toward my driveway and arrived home, just as husband was leaving for his haircut appointment in our local sweet hometown of Grantsville, WV.
The walk in the woods. As in former days, visits to favorite woodland spots where my feet used to pad along down the trails, has once again restored my faith. Faith in God. Faith in Family. Faith in the future and that we all have our spot in this history of mankind. Faith that we were all born for such a time as this. Many have lived through what seems like things no-one should have lived through. But these things have made us stronger. Given this present season, maybe that strength will be required to hold fast to what is true, while letting go of things that are only temporary.
Reminds me of the old hymnalā¦
1.This World is not my Home, Iām just aāpassing through, My treasures are laid up somewhere beyond the blue; The angels beckon me from heavenās open door,
And I canāt feel at home in this world anymore.
O Lord, You know I have no friend like You,
If heavenās not my home, then Lord what will I do? ā¦ā¦..
3.I have a loving Savior up in glory-land,
I donāt expect to stop until I with Him stand; Heās waiting now for me in heavenās open door, And I canāt feel at home in this world anymore.
My storyline today has definitely rambled. But my walk in the woods was kind of a rambling rose story. Totally unharnessed. Husband tells me that I write kindaā like I talk. And Iām ok with that description. When I write, I like to think that I am among friends and have the liberty to take pause and insert thoughts along the way. Like jumping off the trail to pick daisies. Then returning to the main path. That is why I chose the āheart pathsā title. I can ramble down all kinds of rabbit trails. For those who know me; Itās ok.
Honestly folks, times are turbulent. Itās definitely the season to be sober-minded. Where there is confusion, there is every evil work; or so the scriptures say! Right now, it seems confusion is prevalent. So should we not guard our hearts and let only truth enter in. This one thing I believe to be true. God has always taken care of His people and I believe that is an eternal truth. And there is only One God. Please make sure you are hearing from the true God. Donāt be fooled by the new gods being introduced that look beautiful and offer feel good benefits. Satan himself was once the most beautiful angel of all. His pride was his fall. And that fall was great. Now he can only mock, imitate and illude.
So my walk in the woods has stabilized me. Iāve been reminded that my roots go deep. Not easily shaken and solid in my faith. I envision an oak tree! Not like these pine trees that have been falling around our house lately. They have no root systems and the windstorms have brought them down. Donāt misunderstand. I easily love pine trees. They are beautiful. They smell wonderful. And entering into a pine cove feels so cozy, tranquil and safe. But looks, smells and feelings do not constitute safety.
Can we consider the faith of our ancestors being deeply rooted in God? The faith of our fathers being passed on to us? Is that faith truly a real and very much alive substance? I believe so! I will venture to say that faith is even in our bloodlines. I pray that my faith will remain stable and true; if even unto death.
Another old Hymn ~ Faith of our Fathers
Faith of our Fathers! Living still
In spite of dungeon, fire, and sword: Oh, how our hearts beat high with joy Wheneāer we hear that glorious word.
Faith of our Fathers! Holy Faith! We will be true to thee til death.
