ome years ago, on a trip to northern California, I saw the redwood forests for the first time. I can never forget them; I must go back to them.
I drove down a highway lined by giants of incomparable beauty. Seeing a sign, I pulled off the road, parked at Founders Grove, and got out into an enchanted world.
It was impossible not to look up. My head tilted, and tilted farther, and farther, as my eyes climbed the stately trunks in a seemingly endless ascent to the bright-blue sky.
The air smelled fresh and sweet; the ground rose to meet my feet; nothing stirred. Never have I experienced another place of such peaceful magnificence.
That scene lives deep within me still, never far from recall, always returning with bright hope, a haven, a refuge.
Among the giants it's easy to pray. You want to pray. Your soul climbs up and up, reaching to God. You feel so very small, but you don't feel insignificant. You are among giants, but you belong. It's your Father's world, and you too are part of it.
Friend of mine, go to the redwoods. Go to the real thing
if you can, but go to the redwoods that are just as real-the redwoods of prayer.
Lift your gaze up, and up, and up. Let the cares of life and all the hassles and all the distractions-the noise, the rush, the worry-fall away. Cast all your needs and wants, hopes and fears, on the one who loves you with an everlasting love.
Go to the redwoods. Go back to the redwoods. Live among giants.
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William G. Johnsson is the editor of the Adventist Review.
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