The Woods Is My Church

My mom tries to get my 4 year old daughter to go to church every Sunday, like she did with my brother and me 30 years ago. I don’t go to church, so last week my daughter asks where my church is. I said, “In the woods,” so she pictures a big wooden building in the woods somewhere. “Do you want to go?” I ask. It’s 8am on Sunday; a sunny, great day for a walk in the woods. “Is it big?” she asks. “Yup. You’ll love it,” I say. My wife is giving me funny looks.

We drive to the trail’s entrance and my daughter exclaims, “This is Dobson’s Trail! Your church is here?!” As we start walking in the woods she asks me how far away the church is. “This is it,” I say. “The woods is my church. See the logs where we rest? Those are the pews. The squirrels and birds are the choir.” “Wow,” she whispers. She gets it.

So every Sunday morning we go to our church now: a quiet walk in the woods.