All churches, from the simplest white clapboard parish hall set high on a hill in a small country town to a rough-hewn adobe mission; from the grand abbeys of France and England to the raucous, choir-filled converted cinemas filled with hand-clapping, foot-stomping Pentecostals, are houses of prayer. And I believe there is something awe inspiring about sitting in a beautiful, old cathedral with its architecture of magnificence, breathtaking stained-glass windows and Michaelangelo inspired domes. But it’s not where I would find my God-spot. There’s too much distraction.
Where someone goes to find their ‘just right’ setting -- to heal their pain, have their prayers answered or to just sit in contemplation -- often comes about from early indoctrination. It’s where you and your family have always gone. Maybe it’s the result of an introduction by a friend, or perhaps one felt the calling from the look of the people making their way through the doors. It could be about community. But where one prays, meditates or finds solace doesn’t really matter. The choices are many and just like in restaurants, the menu is varied and plentiful enough to suit everyone’s taste.
When that need for silence, comfort, peace or divine guidance fills my body with the yearning to find my perfect “G spot,” I feel the overwhelming pull of nature. Those deeply rooted giants of the earth, trees, call to me like sirens. I can sit in the shade of nature’s majesty and feel my breath moving in and out in gratitude for the oxygen I am being given, and for the stunning, awe-inspiring sanctuary. I am reminded that trees give us music as wind rustles through their leaves but also from the wood to make violins and didgeridoos. The canopy gives us water and provides a trade route for monkeys and a hiding place for faeries and gnomes. Nothing fills me as completely as taking shelter in an old-growth forest.
A woodland is full of reminders that we are all part of one planet; how we care for it and each other is the full power of Godliness.