God's Pattern in Life's Pieces

Today, I embarked on a lengthy hike along the Rogue River in Central Oregon. Honestly, I underestimated the beauty of this state. After all, I live in one of the prettiest states in the country. Colorado has it all: rugged landscapes, awe-inspiring views, and towering peaks—over 50 that rise above 14,000 feet. But Colorado is missing something: abundant old-growth forests.

For the past four days, Mary and I have explored new territory around Prospect, Oregon. When we booked our cabin in the woods, I worried whether there would be enough to keep us entertained during our five-night stay. I was wrong.

While I’ve been overwhelmed by the grandeur of Crater Lake and the lava-formed rivers, it’s the trees that have truly captivated me. They call them old-growth; I prefer to think of them as inspiring metaphors.

Rocks are majestic, but they are lifeless.

Trees, on the other hand, have stories to tell. A living, active, and authentic narrative is etched in every ring, every charred spot, and every absent branch.

What I love about these old-growth forests is that there are no age restrictions for residing there. Old and young exist side by side—saplings next to the elderly, the vulnerable next to the invincible—sharing the soil, the river water, and the weather.

Yesterday, I encountered a Douglas-fir that was already old when the Declaration of Independence was signed—likely over 600 years old. My encounter lasted mere minutes, yet it left a lasting impression. This ancient sentinel watches over the forest. No fanfare, no plaque—just a faithful, living part of creation, doing exactly what it was made to do: reaching for the sky like a child reaching for her father’s arms.

This Douglas has witnessed its share of hardships, but houseplants rarely inspire in the same way.

Every part of creation has a story, but in an old-growth forest, the story is still being written and read aloud for anyone willing to listen. I cherish not only the diversity of age in the forest but also the incredible mix of tree species—likely over a dozen thriving together. There’s something to learn from this.

I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised; after all, God made trees an integral part of His creation from the very beginning.

“And out of the ground, the LORD God made to spring up every tree that is pleasant to the sight and good for food. The tree of life was in the midst of the garden, and the tree of the knowledge of good and evil.” (Genesis 2:9)

Perhaps it’s the fact that I’m 71 years old—yes, old growth in human terms—a story in itself. But like my friend the 600-year-old Douglas, I’m not done growing. There are more rings to add, more weather to endure, and more shade to provide for young neighbors.

“They are like trees planted along the riverbank, bearing fruit each season. Their leaves never wither, and they prosper in all they do.” (Psalm 1:4, NLT)

Trees tell a story, and yes, they inspire our own. It began in the garden and continued today in Central Oregon: a living, active, and authentic narrative, with every ring.

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