Note to readers: This post marks a new chapter for my Substack. As I told paid subscribers last week, I’ve lowered the price from $9 per month to $5 per month, and from $99 per year to $49 per year. The number of you who joined as paying subscribers has been stagnant for some time, so I’m hoping that this lower price will entice some of you (a lot of you!?!) to upgrade.
In any case — paid or free — thanks for reading. And check out the links at the bottom of this post.
As you read this, I’ll be in the Boundary Waters Canoe Area Wilderness. I’ve already been in the BWCA twice this year, thus my vow to visit every year has been fulfilled. But each of those trips was just for one day — the first with Joe Friedrichs of the Paddle and Portage podcast, and the second with my buddy, Timo Rova, and my son, Aidan, on a day-trip to Basswood (an article about which will soon appear in the Paddle and Portage magazine).
This is a five-night trip, which I’m leading at the request of my dear friend, Chris Estus, who asked if I’d lead a small group of his buddies. We’ll be following a general path first introduced to me by Brad Shannon, known as the Ester-Hanson Loop. It’s a great mix of (very) big lakes and small lakes, various fishing opportunities, and great campsites.
Since my book came out in April, I’ve been on myriad podcasts, and one question that’s come up repeatedly is some variation on: “How does a person find God in wild places?”
I should’ve known this question was coming. It’s the natural next question after reading the book.
My reluctance in answering that question comes from my history. I wrote several books that tell people how to do something: pray, minister to youth, start a church, etc. But those days are past. I’m not interested in telling people how to live, nor, based on my own foibles, do I feel particularly competent to dish out life advice.
Nevertheless, it’s a fair question. So I’ve developed a response.
Finding God in wild places, I’ve found, takes some effort. It takes practice, both in the sense that the more I do it the better I get at it, and in the sense that when I cultivate practices in the wild, it happens more reliably.
And the best way I can describe it is with the (woo-woo) concept of mindfulness (aka, being present, being conscious).
For example, when we slide our canoes into the water on Thursday morning, we will paddle a long strait, north into Lake Saganaga. There’ll be lots of chatting as we paddle, and we’ll see cabins on either shore for a while before we officially enter the Wilderness area.
Then we’ll turn northwest, and we will have a paddle of well over an hour in big water. The chatting will cease, especially because the the weather report calls for 10-15mph headwinds out of the north-north west, along with scattered thunderstorms. It could take us an hour to get to American Point; it could take two.
And I will focus on only one thing: paddling. It’ll just be stroke after stroke. Some might say mindless physical work, but I’ll try to make it mindful.
Long ago I committed myself to the life of the mind. That is, I chose a life of letters, not a life of labor. (Did I choose, or was it chosen for me?) That’s something I’m going to write about next week — the pros and cons of that life.
But for now I’ll live in the paradox that a couple hours of hard, physical work, of paddling a canoe four miles across big water in big waves will take everything I’ve got, both physically and mentally. The focus this task will demand of me is total and complete. Like a monk at his parchment or a nun at her Rosary, I will attempt with each paddle stroke to be present — present in my body, in that canoe, on that lake, on this planet, in this galaxy, universe, reality.
Once we round American Point and catch some relief from the wind, I’ll descend from my reverie. Chatting will recommence. We’ll have to look for a place to stop for a late lunch, then it’s on to find a campsite, hanging my hammock, and getting dinner ready. Those, too, can be done mindfully, just like Brother Lawrence peeled potatoes prayerfully.
But for me, it’s the prayer of the paddle — that’s where I find the God of Wild Places.
I’ve got a couple more items that might interest you:
Tomorrow, my monthly email blast goes out. I always write a lead essay for that, plus lots of other info about what I’m doing, where I’m teaching and speaking, etc. Most of you are probably on that list, but if you’re not, you can subscribe at the bottom of this page.
I published an essay in the Dartmouth Alumni Magazine about getting excommunicated from Campus Crusade for Christ when I was in college. You can read it here, along with this cool artist’s rendering of me paddling a canoe:
Beautifully written. Your words brought me directly into the experience and I felt like I was out on the water. Thank you for that. And yeah it helps when we are fully present. I have to remind myself of that every day, every moment really. Mindfulness is definitely not woo-woo. :)