Walking Among Giants

It was like we were walking through one of those stately European cathedrals. However, instead of the light coming in through stained glass windows, it was pouring in between a long line of massive trees on either side of us. It was also falling in from above, through a canopy of branches opened at the top. From an earthly perspective it seemed we had walked into the antechamber of God’s throne room itself, so magnificent and majestic were these trees. I was overcome with an urge to fall facedown out of reverence for the sheer beauty of His creation.

(That is me standing at the bottom of the picture :)).

This was not the first time we had experienced such a feeling. As often as we convince ourselves of our own importance and immortality, it runs counter to our nature to conceive of something so much bigger than ourselves. It's altogether startling. What human could not be moved by the majesty of the Redwoods, the untouched-by-human-hands mountains and glaciers of Alaska, the glorious ribbons of color inside the Grand Canyon – all put here for “our viewing pleasure” by the Creator Himself.

Joseph Strauss (not the composer) was the Chief Engineer on the Golden Gate Bridge for San Francisco. This engineering marvel stands as a testament to his brilliance, the second longest suspension bridge by span in the United States after the Verrazano-Narrows Bridge in New York City.

Strauss wrote a beautiful poem that strikes a chord with many who visit the famous California Redwoods. It speaks both of the character of man as well as of our Creator:

The Redwoods

"Here, sown by the Creator's hand,

In serried ranks, the Redwoods stand;

No other clime is honored so,

No other lands their glory know.

The greatest of Earth's living forms,

Tall conquerors, that laugh at storms;

Their challenge still unanswered rings,

Through fifty centuries of kings.

The nations that with them were young,

Rich empires, with their forts far flung,

Lie buried now - their splendor gone;

But these proud monarchs still live on.

So shall they live, when ends our days,

When our crude citadels decay;

For brief the years allotted man,

But infinite perennials' span.

This is their temple, vaulted high,

And here we pause with reverent eye,

With silent tongue and awestruck soul;

For here we sense life's proper goal:

To be like these - straight, true and fine,

To make our world like theirs, a shrine;

Sink down, O Traveler, to your knees;

God stands before you in these trees."