On the Edge of the Woods
The first Goliath-sized fear of my childhood was Sasquatch, the giant whatever-he-was creature who lived in the state of Washington. As a five year old, I had seen the trace of his figure in a fuzzy image supposedly captured on camera by an amateur photographer. He was this colossal furry man-beast who seemed as tall as the trees and always up to no good. What I couldn't make out from the blurred picture came into more focus through the horror stories of two older brothers who took a sadistic pleasure in haunting my childhood. I was too young to locate the state of Washington on a United States map. I didn't know if it was north, south, east or west. I didn't know longitude and latitude. But it didn't matter. I knew it was near. Instinctively, by the lump in my throat and the pulse of my heart, I knew that Bigfoot lived on the other side of the window pane, just up our road, near the barn, somewhere on the edge of the Mark Twain Forest in Reynolds County. During the daytime, I loved living next to the woods. We had a fort tucked away down a footpath we had made. There were endless sticks that we could transform into swords and clubs. There were bushes of boysenberries and raspberries which were free for the picking. There were daytime dangers, to be sure. I was taught early on to look out for rattlesnakes and copperheads, which were thick in those parts. But as it was daytime, I could quickly spot them rustling in the leaves or slithering across the path. Skillful enough at spotting snakes, I was sure I could see Sasquatch moving between our pin oak and walnut trees. The nighttime, though, was a different story. As soon as I fell asleep I was defenseless. Knock off for one minute and there was no telling what the night would bring. So I became two children in the same yard: the one courageous by day; the other a coward by night. What I did in the face of that first Goliath-sized fear was hide. I would occasionally pull the covers over my head, lay still and hope and pray that Bigfoot would walk on past my window and never bother. I hoped he wouldn't hear my breathing or catch my stirring. And sure enough, my diligence paid off. He never saw me. I escaped life on the edge of the woods. I survived my childhood. I've grown up now. I've become an adult. I can locate the state of Washington on a map. I've even mustered up enough resolve to travel there from time to time. And yet, I haven't outgrown all my fears. Other creatures of the imagination have replaced the monsters of my childhood. There are still things past and things present and things future which steal precious sleep from my eyes. And I still do what I did then. I hide. With all the saints of ages past, with all those who have ever been in trouble, I draw near to God. "You are my hiding place; you preserve me from trouble" (Psalm 32:7). "In the shadow of your wings I will take refuge, until the destroying storms pass by. (Psalm 17:8). URL for this article: www.christourkingcolumbia.org/lorica/05mar.html |