creation awaits

It’s about 6:30 in the morning. The sun has just risen; its warm and vibrant rays pierce through the freezing air, filling each street and alley with a golden ambience.

It was end of term yesterday, a time for laying down burdens of work and many farewells. My friend’s dad came and picked him up, bearing surprising gifts - an entire crate of bottles of craft ale. But alas, they will have to wait – for I was heading afar, without much lingering at all.

I lock my bike onto a rusty rack at Gloucester Green. It has done me well, carrying myself and the rucksack all the way down here. After an unusually long stare at it, I turn away and hop on one of the first coaches to London Victoria. From there, I change to King’s Cross. I’m heading north, to the mountains, into the wild, alone.

My first lesson, however, wasn’t in a deep dark forest or on an open Munro. It was in London. Born and raised in one of the largest cities in China. I wasn’t a stranger to the rhythm of urban life. The barking traffic, the concrete maze, the smile-less faces… It was normal practice for any city dweller. London is a place of no difference. Even the usual friendly exchange with the bus driver has been replaced by a metallic and robotic beep.

We humans are extremely adaptive. You may not have realized, but we have managed well towards the ‘harshness’ of urban living. Noise-cancelling headphones for one – what a marvelous piece of technology! With a simple flip of a switch, ill-inducing sounds are no more. As I walk the city streets with my rucksack on my back. I glare at the city dwellers, their headphones, their urban outfits and their luxurious and delicate handbags. Quite disgracefully, I felt smug, superior somehow. I thought that I was better than the people who are used to living in a city; that I was leaving for a far more pleasant place; that I will be closer to God by moving away from it all.

I’m lucky to have found a window seat on

this train. Finally settling down my luggage, I look out to see the pleasant pasture land of the English countryside. Following a loud whooshing, darkness overtakes the view - we are passing a tunnel. My eyes refocused onto the image of my rucksack, and then my own reflection. Suddenly, I realized how utterly wrong I was. Just like the headphones, outfits and handbags, I have my very own camera, tripods, tent, waterproofs, sleeping bag, base layers, dry bags… the list goes on. They are not superior. They’re faffier if anything. And most of the time, the outdoors isn’t a pleasant and mellow haven at all. The rain, the wind, the midges, the hail. Everything is changing, and each change can make your day a miserable one.

Most of us think of wilderness adventures as a way to reconnect with nature and indeed with God: a fruitful and rewarding spiritual retreat. In some sense and cases, it is. Creation does have a unique and irreplaceable way to display God’s magnificent glory. But the Christian life is a life-long campaign. There will be victory as well as defeat, reward as well as fatigue. And getting close to nature doesn’t give you a shortcut. Even when you are surrounded with soft and vibrant heathers, listening to waves gently patting the shoreline, camping under awe-inspiring stars of the night sky. Just like work during term time stresses me out and squeezes God out of my life. Our hearts are prone to forget and ignore these glorious displays and focus on ourselves. The same battle is to be fought, no matter where we are.

It was my third day into the Cumbria Way. For those of you who are not too familiar with the Lake District, it’s a 77-mile hiking route that takes you through some of the best scenery in the National Park. Challenging but also very rewarding. I knew a storm was brewing over to the west, but without any reception, there was no way for me to have found out the precise time it would hit me - I was wild camping all along the way. The route is separated by a prominent mountain pass about half-way. And I had to make it over before bad weather moves in – or so I thought. I hiked deeper and deeper into the valley. As I began to ascend, dark clouds landed ashore and anchored upon the surrounding fells. The heavens had opened. I was halfway to the top, but the sensible thing to do was to cancel the attempt and seek shelter on lower grounds. And now I’m recalling that God was certainly telling me to do so, via a little voice of sanity inside my heart. But I ignored it. I ignored Him. I was obsessed somehow with the unpleas-

ant and exhausting rhythm of hiking on a harsh and exposed hillside. With each step I took, I would voice some of the utmost ludicrous things I’ll ever be saying to myself. “Of course I can do this!”, “I will make it”, “Once I get across, everything will be fine”. It wasn’t so.

In case you haven’t realized (I certainly wasn’t in the clear), a good old summer thunderstorm isn’t too favourable to outdoor recreational activities, not at all. Gale force wind mixed with bullet speed raindrops can easily soak right through you, making what should have been a light hill walking into a wet and miserable disaster. Unsurprisingly, it took me way longer to reach the top. It got dark, and the only lights were my puny head torch and the occasional lightning strikes in the distance. I was truly and utterly scared, probably for the first time in my life. And finally, I remembered to pray. I cried to God, at least I thought I did, for I surely wouldn’t have noticed a few more tears on my face. To rely on our own strength, is the recipe for stumbling. We can’t do this life on our own, we need God. I thought I had a great plan choosing to power through this tough terrain. But God’s plan is always wiser and for the better. Proverbs 19:21 Many plans are in a man’s heart, But the counsel of the Lord will stand. So why so stubborn? Admit our weakness, for God delights in it. Seek his counsel, for He knows better.

I found a large boulder near the cairn and pitched up behind it. It was a sleepless night, but God graciously kept me through it. When day finally broke, the wind changed its direction, and my tent was flattened and filled to the brim. It was an absolute catastrophe. But now looking back, I can certainly see God’s magnificent hand, coming through every minute of that night.

A few weeks later, with a patched-up tent and a more prayerful heart. I completed the 77 miles. And jotted my name down on the visitor book in Carlisle.

But of course it’s not to say that all my attempts to truly immerse in and admire creation ended up in vain, and turned into a physical and spiritual struggle. Occasionally, my heart would be filled with joy and inspiration by God and through his glory. And it’s these moments I was faithfully close to him, and it’s these moments I shall treasure for the rest of my life. Sitting on a flat summit plateau, views for miles and miles. The air

is still and the temperature is as comfortable as it gets. Food is cooking away behind me, and the tent is all organized and cozy. Everything is so perfect and quiet. And I know it is so because God wants to show me wondrous things, listen to me and speak to me. I let Him.

I’ve been hiking for a few days and set up camp deep inside one of the last remaining patches of Caledonian forests, high up in the Scottish Highlands. Scots pines are truly marvellous trees, and some woods are entirely made up of them. You feel like you’ve walked into a meeting, and everyone just froze on the spot. Every single one of them, although belonging to the same species, each has a completely different posture. Even the long deceased were still reaching towards the sky with their bone-dry and gnarly branches, looking very much trying to stay alive. A sunset was brewing, and the distant snow-capped mountains glowed in the last afternoon light. The stags were bellowing down in the valley, I could hear a burn singing all the way down there but hidden to my eyes. Ah, how appropriate are the words of that old melody:

When through the woods And forest glades I wander I hear the birds Sing sweetly in the trees, When I look down From lofty mountain grandeur And hear the brook And feel the gentle breeze, Then sings my soul, My Savior God, to Thee, How great Thou art! How great Thou art!

As the last clouds depart, golden light soon pierces through, bathing the entire landscape in a tsunami of warmth and glory. It was then I noticed some very special trees. I love to personify nature, especially trees. I wouldn’t presume what they were thinking or feeling. But this I do know, that “the whole creation has been groaning as in the pains of childbirth right up to the present time.” (Romans 8:22). Suddenly it all makes sense. They too, like us, are longing to be liberated from the bondage and decay of this fallen world. Although they are glorious now, the sun is bound to set, and storms are set to come. It may just happen to be strong enough to break their trunks that pose so elegantly right now. But though broken and shattered, I’m sure they would always remember that one glorious moment, when God showed them his warmth and splendour.

We, too, need to remember. And with remembrance, comes hope; with hope, comes a new and determined start, and a life of grace and reliance.

Hi! I’m Sheppard, a third year physicist at St Hugh’s. I was born in China and got to know Jesus after I came to England for school. I love the outdoors and landscape photography, and God has shown me some amazing things on my trips into the wilderness. Please allow me to share a few exciting stories that God has weaved into my life.