This Deciduous December
Jordan Lake State Recreation Area— North Carolina
Re-establishing Rhythms
The drive to Jordan Lake for a morning hike found me a little irritated with myself when I realized I had left my AirPods at home. My modus operandi for solitary hiking when I have things I want to think through is to choose one of my playlists on Spotify to begin the hike and then let the app choose similar songs for me once it’s done. (Find great new music that way.) Music has always done that for me, I guess…helped me to process where I am and where I’m going. The notes and rhythms reach into my soul and draw out what’s buried deep in my heart so that I can talk it through with the Holy Spirit. The lesson from the shedding of the deciduous trees had been lingering in my thoughts since the hike at Falls Lake, and I wanted to process it further.
But, I’d gone far enough from home that I was NOT going to turn around. I would just have to deal with it. The thought occurred to me that perhaps there might be some things I needed to hear as well as see on this particular hike. It seemed reasonable, but it still did not keep me from mentally kicking myself in the butt for another couple of minutes for forgetting those AirPods.
It was another mild December day when I hit the trail. The sky was completely overcast with no sign of the sun. I had come knowing that there was the threat of showers but a little rain never hurt anybody, and it was warm enough that the dampness would not be a hindrance. I’m always watching when I’m hiking, but I made it a point to notice what my other senses were capturing as I moved along the path.
It might amuse you to know that my hearing was so heightened without the AirPods in my ears that I had to stop and remove the ice I had put in the water in my thermos. Its incessant clanging was driving me crazy! That remedied, it was actually the absence of sound I noticed. Not a single bird was chirping. It was rather eerie, really…the sound of silence.
My senses began to tune in to the woods more keenly as I trekked on. I’ve always loved the smells of the forest. So much so that I’ve found a perfume reminiscent of it that I wear often, but there’s nothing like the real thing. When I’m hiking, that warm earthy, peppery aroma coming from the soil and the trees settles me somehow, and I was greatly enjoying it when I noticed a shift in the scent. It was the smell of the water as the trail took me closer to the lake; the scent of moisture in the air, combined with the scents of the plant and animal life unique to the lake. It drew me off the main path and to the water’s edge.
The New Hope Overlook provided a panoramic view of Jordan Lake; the water a silvery grey, reflecting the overcast sky. It would have been a peaceful place to sit and relax, had I been of a mind to, but I wasn’t. Not this day. In my heart I knew this wasn’t the point of focus the Holy Spirit had in mind, so I returned to the main trail and continued walking.
From the outset, I still noticed the evergreens…the holly, the moss, the trees…remembering the lesson from the deciduous trees. I considered the many things in my life that I’d already shed and the things that remain. Are there still some things I need to shed? What things in my life are meant to be evergreen? And after the shedding, what comes next?
Somewhere along the way, as I was thinking on these things, I began to take notice of my heart beating in my ears as the trail drew me uphill. It was an increasing but steady rhythm as it responded to the demands of the upward trail. Additionally, I heard the sound of my own increased breathing and rhythm of my gait as the leaves crunched under my boots. Upon reaching the top of the hill, the trail took a sharp right turn and steeply declined. As the trail changed, so did my gait and my rhythm. To keep from falling, I naturally shifted the center of my weight back, cut my steps in half and quickened my pace as the descent quickly drew me down the hill. Once I reached the bottom, I, again, naturally adjusted my gait and its rhythm, my breathing slowed and the sound of my heart beating in my ears diminished. Each adjustment required no thinking on my part. In order to get home I needed to adjust to the rhythm of the trail and simply keep moving. So I did.
The Jordan Lake hike was actually two trails totaling six miles. I had intended a shorter hike because of the rain. But when I reached the point where the shorter blue trail would circle me back to the car, the urge to continue along the red trail won out. I had a strong sense there was something more to discover. I always see so much that aligns to spiritual life when I am hiking. I am already understanding there will be numerous things on these hikes that I won’t always have time to mention, but there is one final observation I simply must share from the red trail. It’s the behavior of the American beech tree and its lingering leaves. The lesson from it is too profound to leave off. (There’s an accidental pun hidden right there. Ha!)
I love trees but I only research them when certain characteristics attract my attention. This time it was those brown, lingering leaves that I finally noticed while on the red trail. Of course they had been there the whole time. They were everywhere. Apart from the evergreens, most of the trees around them were bare, having allowed their leaves to drop off long ago. Why were these still holding on? I was looking forward to doing this research as I wandered down the trail to the rhythm of light rainfall and my own footfall on the forest floor. What would I find?
I would find a species of tree about as stubborn and resistant to change as I am. During the process of shedding their leaves, most deciduous trees form what is called an abscission layer. This layer forms a protective cork wall where the leaf stem meets the tree. When the leaf dies and falls off, the cork layer prevents an open wound in the tree. Though they are deciduous, the American beech trees resist the shedding and are some of the last to let go of their leaves. The leaves wither but do not detach. Some will hold on to the dead leaves into the early spring. This “holding on” is known as marcescence. The reasons they do not shed are unclear, but I found it interesting that marcescence doesn’t always affect the whole tree, and tends to be a juvenile trait that may disappear as the tree ages. One thing is certain. Those lingering leaves will eventually have to yield to the new growth of the next season.
Yes, the deciduous trees reveal a lot about letting go. As I walk with God, I know that shedding off things that are no longer of benefit to me or to Him will be a constant part of the journey. But after the shedding, what then?
It isn’t a new discovery by any means, but on the hike by Jordan Lake I was reminded of the rhythms of life…my own life in particular. The deciduous trees have a rhythm as they shed their leaves year after year in order to produce new ones for a new season. The trails I hike on have a rhythm as they adjust to the weather and the falling leaves, as well as to the animals and humans that take them. And I also have a rhythm that is redefined as I hike those same trails...and as I move through my life. We all do.
Just as my heart, my breathing and my gait re-established a rhythm every time the rhythm of the trail changed, so too must our souls and spirits re-establish a rhythm as we yield to the rhythms of letting go as we walk with God. But many times letting go is painful, and the idea of pain makes us resistant. Letting go may leave us with a big gaping hole in our hearts. So, like the beech tree, we can be spiritually marcescent. In our immaturity (or stubbornness) we want to hold on. We don’t want a new rhythm. We like things the way they are, even though they have no life left in them. To remain there would put our hearts in full arrest with no rhythm at all. It’s in those seasons we feel stuck. No rhythm means no movement. But we want to get Home, don’t we? How do we pick up the beat?
I’m reminded of Isaiah 30:21. I’ve walked to its rhythm for many years, and yet as I recall it again, it reinforces with greater intensity the weak places in my heart where I still resist shedding what is already dead. I see that though we may attempt it, on our own we are unable to create that healing protective layer that will fill the gaping open wound that shedding and letting go may cause. But He can. It is the Word of God and the companionship of the Holy Spirit that will strengthen us and re-establish our rhythm once we let go. “And your ears will hear a word behind you, saying, This is the way; walk in it, when you turn to the right hand and when you turn to the left.” (AMPC) He knows the way to the heart of the Father if we will listen for His voice.
I began this particular trip irritated that I had interrupted my normal hiking rhythm by forgetting my AirPods. But wow, what I would’ve missed! I see now that even our good and normal rhythms can be noisy. (Kinda like the ice clanging in my thermos.) Our culture teaches us to fill all the empty spaces. But sometimes we need the silence. Sometimes our Father wants us all to Himself. He has things to say that require us to be intentionally quiet. In the silence of the shedding, He is still there, calling us into His deeper rhythms of grace. Can you hear Him?
“Are you tired? Worn out? Burned out on religion? Come to me. Get away with me and you’ll recover your life. I’ll show you how to take a real rest. Walk with me and work with me–watch how I do it. Learn the unforced rhythms of grace. I won’t lay anything heavy or ill-fitting on you. Keep company with me and you’ll learn to live freely and lightly.” –Matthew 11:28-30 (MSG)
After the shedding, simply listen.
“Father, during the times of shedding help me to remember not only to let go, but to listen and fall in step with the rhythm of Your heart for the next season. You alone know the way Home.”
Pics from the hike…
