The Holy Place

The summer I turned 15, I worked for the Youth Conservation Corps on Timber Mountain in Washington State. One memorable day stood out for me. It began with the sight of two deer in the morning and a chipmunk diving in and out of a hole underneath where I was sitting on a stump on my break. Later in the day, as I carried metal poles up a hill for the next stretch of barbed wire fence we were installing, I was mesmerized by the entrancing view of the pastel-like trees, evergreens and tamaracks, blending together. I collected myself, climbing further into a thick, dark cedar woods. Suddenly, I walked out of the darkness of the thick woods and into a natural cathedral. The sunlight was filtering through the trees on a thick green carpet of clover. A large white boulder with two smaller ones sat in the center like an altar. The birds were singing their songs of praise. Holiness, majesty ... I felt in the presence of God.

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