On the 28th of February, an unusually warm day for that time of year, I drove past countless rows of pines in search for my old camping spot. Some years ago, I had decided that to understand my path forward, I must venture out into the wilderness and get alone. So, I began taking solo camping trips each year to clear my head. I would read a book, walk through nature, sit by the fire, think, and even pray. In the morning I would sit by a lake or someplace peaceful and write out everything I had accomplished in the year prior and everything I had left to accomplish. The exercise worked. I cleared my head, picked a direction, and went home feeling confident in myself.
A few times, in the previous year, I had felt a tap on my shoulder telling me to get alone. I was due for a wilderness trip, and my soul was feeling the strain of work, but I ignored it and kept working as much as I could. Then, something unusual happened. In the week leading up to my latest trip, I lost my job. To make matters more complicated, our first baby was on the way and just around the corner. Needless to say, I was in a bind and needed a path forward. So, I set a date on the calendar and ventured out to Sam Houston National Forest.
It was early afternoon when I arrived at my usual camping spot, which was a narrow clearing surrounded by young pines and shrubs in a section known as Kelly’s Pond. What I like most about this particular spot is that if you follow a little trail in the back of the camping ground, you reach another clearing surrounded by much bigger trees and wilderness. That was where I pitched my tent. The trip was much like before. I brought a few books, a steak, and my guitar. I was in for a calm night of reflection. After I setup camp and gathered firewood, I sat down on a log and began to read The Four Loves by C.S. Lewis.
I was a hundred pages in by sundown. The deep and rich colors of the forest were waxing into a dull sheen with the last available light slipping away to my right. I closed the book and set about starting the campfire and grilling my steak. This was the moment during each of my camping trips when everything gets very still. The fire at my feet danced with pops and crackles as my eyes followed the smoke up to the treetops and the glimmering stars beyond. It’s a setting like that where my mind can concentrate. I was alone, and my busy world was gone.
Next, I pulled out my guitar and plucked a few chords. Strong chords filled with dissonance and mystery. I began pacing the narrow clearing while plucking notes and staring up at the moon. The whole time I was there, I had expected to have an encounter with God for the purpose of knowing my next step. I got alone to hear; I read a book to focus; I built a fire to inspire, and I played music under the stars to drum up the emotions. So far, I was performing the dance correctly. But the whole time I was there I had a thought that what I was seeking would not come to me. I would do all the right steps and yet miss it in the end. I was nervous I would go home empty-handed to a worse situation that awaited me.
I put the guitar down, and I began to talk to God. I also dropped my usual church voice and just spoke to him. My thoughts went to a time when I was alone with God as a teenager. When I was eighteen and graduated from high school, I attended a small Bible school in an even smaller Texas town. In the mornings, I would grab my Bible and venture into the wilderness behind my dorm to a spot known as the Prayer Garden. It was a concrete amphitheater that overlooked the horse fields. There I would sit and read the Bible and start my day in silence. Then, I would just talk to God. I talked to Him like He was right there with me. In those days I felt very close to Him, but the years to come would change some of that.
Here I was, almost seventeen years later, feeling like I was wading into uncharted water. Life in the professional world turned out to be more taxing than I had first envisioned. My soul felt like it was tied up in knots. My mind couldn’t get clear like it did before, and my desire to commune with God was at its lowest. When I got alone to think, I focused on my career, not on my relationship with Him. I was giving a good effort to make it as a Christian man, but in the end I felt empty and wore out. The pressure to perform in the same way the others did at work molded me into an angry person with raw nerves and a sense that what was once wholesome about myself was slipping further away like smoke between the trees. I told myself that my trip was to find answers, but what I would find instead was something I didn’t expect and something I didn’t think I needed.
There was a line from The Four Loves that stuck with me. Lewis writes about a love found in patriotism. It’s a type of love we all feel when the drums are beating and the band plays our anthem. In this section he quotes a bit from Kipling:
If England was what England seems
An’ not the England of our dreams
But only putty, brass an’paint
‘Ow quick we’d drop ‘er. But she ain’t!
Here Kipling is describing the feeling of patriotism toward an objectively good nation in the eyes of her citizens. At the time this was written, the impression of the nation was that it was slipping in its global graces, yet the observer knows it isn’t true because he sees his nation as being a good nation. But if it turned out to be true that his wonderful country was really nothing higher than all the rabble he compared her to, then he would disown her in an instant. Lewis goes on to say that this would be an absurd form of love. In fact, a kind of love that only exists when the object is worthy of it is not love at all. This struck me something heavy. It’s not that the thought had never occurred to me before; it’s just that it was high time that I listened.
My efforts in my career, though admirable in some regards, were overshadowed by a cloud of doubt and insecurity. I worked hard and gave great effort to prove myself worthy of love, to be the England the observer found right and true, to be the son that was shining brilliantly. And here I was exhausted and at the end of myself no closer to achieving my goal. How miserable I was after so many years of trying to not be miserable. I understood in that moment of talking with God and revisiting the Prayer Garden, so to speak, that I had been avoiding God’s love. I wanted desperately to earn love and to be accepted as a great man on my own terms and my own merits, yet I was a failure.
Talking with God in the woods made me realize that it wasn’t so important to know what was next. He didn’t want me to use Him to be onto the next thing. He wanted me to simply spend time with Him and He with me. The goal was not to achieve some sort of success that I could point to and receive love for having done it; the goal was to have Him. The goal was to know God and to receive His love, which is unconditional.
My world stopped for a moment that night. If I wanted to continue with the conversation, I had to let go of my selfish wants, my inner drive to perform, and just be with God. So, for the first time in a very long time, I began to worship. I just sang songs to God surrounded by wilderness. And it didn’t have a touch of hope that He would reward me with a secret answer to fix my situation. I had no fix. All I had was me and God and time alone in the wilderness, and I was absolutely happy. It wasn’t a usual happiness I got from spending time with my wife or my friends or doing something that was fun. I experienced contentment. My soul, which was twisted in knots, was unravelling, and I was content to let it happen.
I called my wife, as I always do on these trips before going to bed. We talked a bit and prayed before saying good night. Then I put out the fire, crawled into my tent and finished the rest of the book. There was much that I learned from reading The Four Loves. It would take too long to compile everything, so I would recommend that everyone should read it and allow yourself to be quiet when you do so. As I predicted, I left the next day without an answer as to what would be next for my life. I was leaving the beautiful wilderness and re-entering the cold reality of my circumstances. But I knew that I did the right thing. It was more important that I correct my heart before pursuing any other endeavor. And as the tops of the trees disappeared in my mirrors, the contentment didn’t fade. It stuck to me like the lingering scent of smoke and pine needles that filled my car and remained even after I washed the wilderness down the drain.
Jeff Knapick
WBC Member
