Sequoia

A Poem: On the Wild Nature of an Unassuming Heart

Photo by Josh Carter on Unsplash

Prologue (Poem follows)

I’ve been on a journey for the past several years and I’ve started to wake up to myself.  I’ve lived a lot of life not understanding why I am the way that I am. Maybe you can relate?

So similarly, I’ve also lived a lot of life with other people who did not understand me. I can be misunderstood. Maybe you can relate to this as well.

I’m not like Jack Black, as much as I love the man. I tend to be a more gentle, quiet, and reflective person.  But because I lend myself to an unassuming nature, I’ve often been viewed as not having a wild and free spirit.

Now granted, I can’t possess every personality in life.  If I’m reflective and calm, then on most days, I’m not your stereotypical charismatic, extroverted, spontaneous, or rebellious (in a good way) person.

I’ve come to accept and love that about myself.

But I’ve come to realize that my adventurous and wild side, is very much alive and well even though it’s not charismatic. It just looks different.

I know my charismatic friends are wild and it’s a pure expression. Please don’t ever stop bringing that energy.  We need it.

But to my reflective and quiet friends…

We’re wild too.

Charisma and spontaneity can be used as strengths. So our grounded and meek natures are also strengths.

But where is our wilderness?

For the past several years, I’ve had to dig into the wilderness of my heart.  I’ve had to learn, mature, change, mourn, grieve, adapt, face fears, grow, radically accept, sacrifice, and find my resilience.  I’ve had to find out who I really am and who God really is.  

And as hard and rugged and toilsome as those paths are, they’re starting to make me feel alive the same way the spirit of adventure does.  James 1 is a powerful revelation that is so meaningfully connected to this.

“Consider it pure joy, my brothers and sisters, whenever you face trials of many kinds, because you know that the testing of your faith produces perseverance.”
— James 1:2-3

This seemingly impossible instruction all of a sudden feels accessible in the context of an adventure into your soul.  The frontier of the heart is a wilderness to explore and is full of unknown excitement.  But the terrain is rugged, the elevation is deep and steep, and it’s going to take some time. 

Obviously, everyone lives their life here. We have to. But I believe those of us who tend to be more reflective have a unique relationship with the wild.

We are trees.

I was sitting in the sun drinking coffee before work one quiet afternoon. While in the sun, I couldn’t help but notice how wild a tree is, even though it’s such an unassuming part of nature. Tedious years of laying down invisible roots. Endurance through every season. A canopy of leaves catching the wind before we even sense it coming.

I was probably looking at a common oak in my backyard, but my mind wanted to exaggerate. I’ve always been fascinated by Sequoias.  Sequoia National Park and the mountains, redwoods, and nature scenes of the Pacific Northwest are the places I would visit if I could travel anywhere. 

But the sequoias are iconic. I couldn’t help but imagine the magnificence of something so steadfast. I’ll see them one day but I know this much.

They’re enormous, they’re roots are indestructibly strong, they’re ancient…

and they’re wild.

SEQUOIA
by Joel Adcock

I.

I am rooted but I am not domesticated. A sequoia soul—planted but my roots are pioneers. They have learned to search the unbroken earth that surrounds me. They are pilgrims on the frontiers of my heart discovering who God truly is and who I truly am.

I was not made by His passionate hands to flourish in suburban soil. Sanitized dirt and manicured grounds are a shallow convenience but only birth a brittle boredom—a malnourishment that fractures our fragile bones.

Wild resilience has become the feast my spirit feeds from as I reach and wrangle myself into the rugged terrain and bedrock. I draw support from the deep enmeshment. Cultivating strength from my struggles is not my shame but my honor.

II,

I am tender but I am not tame. A sequoia soul—towering but my stalwart trunk is a pillar for winters and my compassionate crown casts shade for weariness.

My branches are masts to behold His world. My leaves are sails catching the breath of life.  The mercurial wind awakens me, stirring me into a brilliant awareness. 

Unadulterated freedom finds me, like Your Spirit, unbridled, blowing from and into the unknown. It is my holy reminder that life is vibrant around me and is a playful child, wild within me.  Pneuma, You are a nest for my innocence and counsel for a smile. Gust and fill my lungs with laughter and carry away my jaded thoughts. 

III.

I am seasoned but I am not frail. A sequoia soul—ancient but my age nurtures my vitality. The seasons are perennial patrons that keep lithium in my veins and give growth rings to my heartwood. I am Caleb. Give me my mountain.

Time has become a friend I’ve been reintroduced to by his Author. He was never meant to be a context of decay—he is an exponent of revival.  Not simply an usher of death but a catalyst for abundant life.

Put me in a pot and I will peak prematurely. I desire long-suffering. I am alkaline. I long for the backcountry within me. Let me take an eternity to make the formidable Sierra a garden. Let me defy the odds. Let the depths and the heights become my history with You—my home with You, Yahweh.

IV.

The wilderness is provocative to the soul and holds the beauty of being. It gives strength for weakness and an appointment with God. He is my burning bush and my pillar of fire. But He is also my raven of provision and my still small voice. He is my Wild Wonder and will reveal Himself here.  He is with me here—within this pure and primal communion.

The desert you’re standing in is holy ground. So count it as joy. Don’t hold your breath. Don’t filter the air. The gift it gives is the evoking gasp to dilate the eyes, which then pulls us to peace with a sacred sigh.

The unknown is not reserved for the maverick’s loud cry but has a vacancy also for the grounded and quiet. The wild welcomes rest when it informs us we’re alive.