“Lisa, take a walk with me,” God said.
It was another request — gentle, persuasive, and still somehow loving. And like the rebellious teenager I tend to be with God, I resisted. I knew what a walk meant. It meant a lesson. A challenge. A truth I wasn’t sure I wanted to face. I didn’t want to go to school that morning. I wanted to sleep in.
But eventually, I conceded. I stepped onto the D&L trail, and the world softened around me. Nature in all her splendor wrapped herself around my senses, and for the first time in a long while, I felt relaxed. At peace. Maybe because I was alone — with my thoughts, with God.
“Remember, Lisa… we’re just walking. So breathe it all in,” God whispered.
This time, the voice felt different — tender, maternal, like a compassionate mother guiding me gently forward. She wasn’t pushing me toward a destination. She was teaching me how to be present without needing one. How to trust the path even when I couldn’t see where it led.
And when I listened, I could almost hear it — an orchestra rising around me.
Wildflowers resiliently swaying in the breeze. Water burbling over stones. Trees standing tall and rooted in the deep embrace of Mother Earth.
The sights, the sounds, the scents — they weren’t just scenery. They were messages. Invitations. Reminders to walk with an open mind and an open heart. So I breathed it all in.
My lungs expanded with life. The cool breeze brushed my skin like a blessing. Sunlight filtered through the canopy, warming me with reassurance. For the first time in a long time, I could truly see — the vibrant greens, the vivid blooms, the shimmering river rushing beside me.
I wasn’t thinking about stress or worry. I was simply… there.
Nature has this way of offering subtle reminders exactly when I need them. A butterfly drifting by. A feather resting on the ground. A drizzle of rain that feels like cleansing. Wildflowers scattered like confetti along the trail.
Each one felt like a quiet reassurance from the Divine: You are not alone. Keep walking.
As my walks turned into hikes, the landscape expanded. Cascading waterfalls. Still ponds and rippling lakes. Dense forests giving way to winding gorges carved between towering cliffs. Rugged mountainsides that left my legs trembling and my spirit soaring when I reached the summit and saw the world stretch endlessly before me.
Every landscape reflected something inside me. Awe. Searching. Quiet revelations. It was as if the wilderness was mirroring my inner terrain — the untamed, the longing, the hope, the healing.
I began to understand that wisdom doesn’t always arrive as words. Sometimes it comes as symbolism. Sometimes as emotion. Sometimes as the simple act of being fully present.
Maybe by allowing myself to just be — to listen to waterfalls, to feel the rush of rivers, to exchange a kind smile with passing hikers — I was already acknowledging something profound.
Even in solitude, I wasn’t truly alone. Others walked their own paths beside me, carrying their own stories, their own wounds, their own revelations. We shared the same space, the same beauty, the same moment. Yet each of us was on a different journey.
And still, I kept my momentum. Trusting that my path was unfolding exactly as it should.
Then one night, everything clicked.
I looked up at the sky, another kind of orchestra. The vastness of the Universe. The moon glowing like a lantern. Stars shimmering in their ancient dance. Planets drifting in silent harmony.
And suddenly, my doubts and fears felt so small. These celestial bodies were shining for me. And as I took it all in, I felt my existence take shape. The wonder I saw above me was the same wonder that lived inside me. It was God — magnificent, infinite — pulsing within my soul.
I had simply forgotten.
Maybe that’s why the night sky has always called to me. It aligns me with God, with the Universe, with something sacred and vast. It feels like the sky opens not just above me, but through me.
That awareness — that the cosmos is both around me and within me — became a compass. A guiding force pointing inward toward truth, presence, and God.
So when I stargaze, hike, or sit in quiet meditation, that resonance grows stronger. Synchronicities speak louder. The wind feels like a whisper. Signs in nature give me goosebumps.
It’s my inner beacon. My direction. My reminder that the journey is both outward and inward.
And now, I feel it — a tiny spark igniting deep within me. Growing brighter. Steady. Alive.
Part 3 Who am I?
Who am I?
I am…
Pause. Breathe. Be here at this moment.
The images woven through My Journey and The Lessons are my own photographs — moments I captured on trails, in forests, beside rivers, and under open sky. They are pieces of my story and are not to be copied or used without permission.
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