We will adapt.

What is your favorite form of physical exercise?

There’s no doubt about it:

My dad is a tree hugger. He’s a lover of nature. Humble in the face of it, and when we were in it, he taught me the art of silence. (Which is very difficult for me.)

But I loved his passion for it. I always have.

My dad gave me the opportunity as a young child to walk alongside him in the orchards and the woods that surrounded our home.

And gosh… as a child my dad was my hero. He still is and always will be— But I remember wanting to be just like Dad, so I did did my best to do everything Dad did. One of those things was to be silent when we walked.

I remember going out in 4 feet of snow – I don’t know how I did it. But I remember my sisters, my dad and I went out “Moose hunting.”And when I say moose hunting, I mean we saw the signs that there was a moose in our woods, and we wanted to see the increasingly rare sight. So we followed the signs—-with a video camera, and we all walked in silence, which, if you know me, is nearly impossible for me to do. But Dad did it, so darn it, I was going to do it too. We never found our moose, but we still have the video to this day, and I had the pleasure of watching it this summer and remembering that silent trek into the woods where my little sister, my big sister, my dad and I went on a 3 mile trek through the woods in that deep snow, trying to be as quiet as we possibly could, and there’s no way we could’ve done it without Dad.

As I grew older into my teen years and young college days, my dad gave me the privilege of backpacking with him in the White Mountains.

But there was a rule.

There were no headphones. There were no radios. There were no distractions.

There was silence

There was silence because my dad, my cousin, and I were taught that if we listened carefully, the mountain would have something to say. If we talked, we wouldn’t hear the soft wind (or not so soft) rustling the leaves in the trees. We would miss them telling their secrets, we wouldnt hear the wind howling over the mountain—

And we wouldn’t hear what the mountain had to say.

What he really meant was: we would not hear what God had to say to us as we spent time in His magnificent creation.

It is always a privilege to be on a mountain. It was always a privilege to walk with Dad. And it was always a privilege to learn from my Dad—

And it still is.

When I moved back home two years ago, I was in a wheelchair due to poor health and the significant wasting of the muscle in my legs. But he would gently say, “Walk with me.” So I would hold his arm and I would walk with dad. Maybe it was just to the end of the driveway and back to get strong again,

But I always walked with my dad.

Today the wheelchair is gone. The cane is gone. The walker is gone, and I can walk further and enjoyably with my dad once more. Sometimes we talk, but mostly we walk in silence because my dad wants me to listen to the “Mountain,” so I can hear what God has to say.

My dad will turn 70 next year.

And I am so lucky to still have my dad in my life to teach me the lesson, the discipline and the pleasure of silence.

Next time you have the privilege of being out in nature, listen to what the “mountain“ has to say. Listen to how the trees talk to one another with the rustling of their leaves. Practice the discipline of silence, and you just might hear… not a mighty roar, not the trembling rumble of an earthquake, but that still small voice that whispers through the trees, through the mountain, and in our hearts.

When I was in a wheelchair, all I could think about was how I wished I could climb one more mountain with my dad, and I would cry. I won’t be doing it now, (NO THANK YOU) but I can still climb those mountains when I walk down the dirt paths, when I walk through the fields where my grandparents ashes are spread. When I listen to the wind chimes in the blowing of the breeze, and when I hear the hummingbirds gathering their nectar.

Thank you dad.

Don’t miss it.

It’s a privilege.

It’s a discipline.

It’s a blessing.

And its the kind of magic you don’t want to miss.

Because the mountain might be talking.