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The trails in the Adirondacks are marked with colorful tin circles, about four inches in diameter, that are nailed to the trees every several dozen yards or so. The paths you are supposed to follow on any particular trail are usually clear-cut, but they can become iffy at times, especially when crossing some thick patches of forest. But if you look up every now and then, sure enough, the friendly yellow circles will greet you at a forthcoming tree, saying, “Hello again, friend! Yes, you are on the right track! Continue this way towards more delights of the Adirondack forest!” I became very attached to these yellow markers on this hike, as they were a point of security, confirming that I was not veering off into a fortnight of survival skills in six million acres of the wild.

As my hike continued, it started raining and then gradually progressed from a sprinkle to a more committed precipitation. No problem, I told myself. A rainy day in the Adirondacks with God is better than a thousand elsewhere. I tried to focus once again on the glories of God’s natural woodlands, in an effort to distract myself from thinking about The Man Who Died From a Heart Attack While He was Hiking.

There was a beautiful stream to my left, cut deep into a rocky gorge; with a series of cascading waterfalls marking it’s descent from one ledge to the next. I stopped to soak it in. Though, literally, now I was soaking, because the rain had advanced to a heavy downpour that demanded my full attention. I pulled out the bright orange poncho from my backpack and put it on, pulling the plastic hood over my head. I was now dry, but it felt like I was also participating in some kind of  NASA echo chamber experiment – I heard a plastic reverb with every step, every breath, every pounding drip of rain. “Houston, we have a problem! I look like an idiot!”

I continued undeterred, persisting through the deluge. This was my time with God.

I started reciting to God a stream of phrases the Psalmist might use. “Thank you, Oh Lord, Praise you for your loving kindness and all your mercies. Bless your holy name, Oh my soul.” This was working. I concentrated more on my meditation. “Thank you for all your blessings, God you are magnificent, thank…you…umm…”

“Where did the trail go?”

I whipped my head in all directions, looking for a path. Nothing. Just a mirror of repeating generic forests on all sides. No trail. My heart started pounding. The adrenaline was pumping as my body geared up for a major fright event, even though I hadn’t really given myself enough time to confirm that I was lost.

“Remain calm!” I admonished myself. “God is with me.” But seriously, dude, where is the trail?

“Stay calm. I will not die out here. I will not die alone.”

Of course not. I will die together with God. He’ll be watching as I slowly wander in confused circles to a slow, protracted death on my Godcation. That must be his plan for me. Just accept it. “No, don’t be ridiculous. I can’t be that far off the trail.” I turn around and take a few steps from where I had been hiking, and search frantically. No yellow markers. I walk a few steps to the left and scan the forest. No yellow circles. I’m getting dizzy. It’s pouring. The visibility has become horrible. I notice my boots and socks are soaked right through, making squishy sounds with every step, like they are filled with jello. Lord, please help me. I’m verging on a flat-out panic attack.

I should not have made fun of those people in the Accident Reports. Surely, this is my well-deserved punishment.

After a few more minutes of wandering, I stopped altogether, leaned against a tree, and prayed. Lord, I am losing it. This is crazy. Help me to find the trail. I listened to the torrential pattering of the rain against the hood of my poncho, like the incessant clicking of a dozen typewriters. My team of writers sealing my fate with a tragic ending.

I regrouped. On a hunch, I took a few steps to the North, in the one direction I hadn’t covered yet. Sure enough, there in the distance, I made out a little yellow marker on a tree. “Hello, friend!” it said, in a squeaky, rattled little voice. I breathed a huge sigh of relief, then ran up and hugged the tree.

*           *          *          *          *          *

I try to come off like I’m this confident, sophisticated and worldly professional. But when you drop me out in the middle of the wilderness on a rainy day with nothing but a backpack and a poncho, you can bet that within an hour or two the real truth comes out: I’m a basket case of fear, insecurity and doubt. Which is to say, I’m sofull of crap. I had a sheepish feeling that perhaps this was God’s lesson for me today, as if he was sitting back in his chair with folded arms saying, “All right, Mister Smarty Pants, now that we’ve gotten that great truth out of the way, maybe we can try to get some real work done around here.”

It was time to turn around and head back to the car. I had enough of the rain and heart attacks and getting lost in the woods. The thought of a hearty dinner and fireplace waiting for me at the lodge became a much more appealing location to practice meditation. I trudged back along the trail, but instead of praying, this time I paid very close attention to those yellow trail markers. It was pouring, but there was a light kick in my step from the tremendous relief of finding the trail. I was lost, but now am found.

I thought about those yellow circles, how they reminded me of the consistency of God’s grace throughout the course of my life. All I know is, if we keep looking up, He’ll give us signs along the way. Maybe it comes as a word from a friend, or through a passage we read, or a coincidental circumstance. Somehow, if we’re paying attention, he gives us these little hints from time to time to let us know He’s got his eye on us, that we’re heading in the right direction. That things are going to be okay.

I was about an hour away from the trailhead, moving at a pretty good clip  despite the soggy boots. Then the strangest thing happened. As I was booking along the trail at breakneck speed, suddenly, for absolutely no reason, I stopped dead in my tracks. I can’t say why. It wasn’t at all a conscious decision. I just stopped. I felt God prompting me.

“Look.” he said.

I turned to look off the side of the trail, and there, leaning gently against a tree, was a stick. A walking stick.

It was the perfect walking stick, just the right height. It was a strong piece of wood, with a slight curve to give it some good leverage. There was a shapely little crook for the hand at the upper end, and a smooth spot right at the top for my thumb. It looked like it had just dropped right out of the sky, a branch fallen off of it’s mother tree, landing in that exact spot. As I approached it, I felt as if this was the one walking stick in the world for me.

God’s presence suddenly overwhelmed the forest. It’s hard to explain. I don’t have words for it, but it somehow felt like, at that moment, God had decided to physically join me on the hike. Maybe it’s what Moses felt when he first saw that burning bush. I looked behind me, all around, but no one was there. It was as if God was playing a trick, like he planned a secret party for me at that tree. “Surprise!” he shouts, jumping out from behind the invisible curtain of infinite omnipresence. It scared me a little bit.

“Is this walking staff for me, God?” Of course at a time like this, calling it a staff rather than a stick sounds more appropriate, more biblical. The sound of a million raindrops pelting the bed of the vast forest floor gave a resounding Yes. Then, applause.

I reached out for the walking stick. “Thank you.” I whispered. Upon taking in the absolute beauty and strangeness of the gift, and this moment, I could only respond with a deep-felt sense of awe. I was overcome with reverence and humility. I worshipped Him. Surely, he was with me now.

It seems as if we are all bopping along in our lives, following our given paths, trying to pay attention so that we don’t get lost. And then, when you least expect it, God’s presence can sneak up right behind you while you’re not looking, and give you a friendly poke in the ribs. “Don’t scare me like that!” you say, startled. Laughing. Then you turn around and see who it is, and you fall to your knees.

The rest of my vacation with God was, comparatively speaking, uneventful. I read a couple of inspiring books, wrote to God in my journal, and spent a great deal of time in prayer. It was peaceful and restful. I used that walking stick on two more hikes. I kind of hoped people would pass by, notice the divine powers emanating from my special stick, and maybe ask me about it. No one did. I took the stick home with me, and now it lies on the hearth above my fireplace in the family room. Sometimes when I’m praying, I’ll pick it up and walk around the house with it as I pray. It reminds me that God’s presence is with me, even when I don’t know it.

Bradley J. Moore posts regularly on the joy and challenge of business spiritually engaged at shrinkingthecamel.com. Bradley is an executive in a large corporation in the Northeast which shall remain nameless.