God’s Reflection

The weather prognosticators were predicting heavy snow in the high country the next day. But today was calm—a few clouds, 15oC (59oF), with the promise of an orange and blue sunset.

Autumn is wheezing its last gasping breaths, and winter is just beginning to cloak the soggy earth in white velvet.

I sat in my warm office, thinking about rain and snow and remembering the reflections of tall Mount Hood on Trillium Lake. I have photographed Hood’s reflections many times, usually during summer when the winding two-mile road to the lake is dry, the campgrounds are full, and the snowy peak of Mount Hood towers above the water.

But tonight, I imagined, could be beautifully different.

The road might be closed, the lake frozen, with few open spots for reflections. My aging legs might not be up to a four-mile up-and-down hike at 3,600 feet of elevation. Still, I longed to see a reflection of Mount Hood peeking around the ice on Trillium Lake.

Jacket. Snacks. Backpack. Tripod. Two cameras. Boots. Hat. Cell phone. Petrol. Sheba, my companion dog, a 100-pound kuvasz. Hurry.

The Long Road to the Lake

The road to Trillium Lake was closed, covered with more than two feet of dirty snow. Bad walking, especially with my heavy camera.

Sheba was eager to start, so I joined her, a song in my heart.

The tall, dark forest snuggled close along the snowy road. We walked hopefully, stopping several times to rest. How is it that a downhill road requires so many uphill steps?

Two people passed us. Each waved and hurried on.

An hour later Sheba and I arrived at the old picnic table beside the lake. Mount Hood’s reflection was all I had dreamed—except for when a curious beaver lifted its head and etched rippling circles into the lake’s mirror.

I celebrated 30 minutes of photography before the light died.

The two-mile hike back that I had been dreading now stretched up, up, and more up.

A Kind Stranger

No longer young, my knees creak and my breath sometimes rasps in huffs and puffs. The road back seemed longer and the snow deeper, but Sheba pulled on her leash, and I followed her toward the distant parking lot high above us.

Two hundred deep, snowy steps later one of the hikers from before, Joe, slogged in beside me. We talked about Mount Hood’s evening reflections, and then Joe asked if he could carry my heavy tripod and camera.

I gave him an automatic no, then reconsidered. My tripod is heavy, and the camera’s weight makes it a true burden. Maybe, I thought, if this kind young man is willing to carry my burden, I ought to allow him.

Joe hoisted my burden as if it were a pack of feathers.

Joe is from the state of Illinois, where he works in a hardware store. He is visiting Oregon to help celebrate a friend’s wedding and has come to Trillium because he read that Mount Hood’s reflection is beautiful.

“What do you do?” Joe asked me.

“I’m a storyteller for the Seventh-day Adventist Church,” I answered.

“Wow. That sounds like fun.”

We walked on, stopping regularly so I could keep my heart from jumping out of my jacket.

“Seventh-day,” Joe said. “I’ve never heard of that. Is it a denomination, a church, or a group somewhere?”

I explained about our 24 million members worldwide and 130 churches in Oregon.

“Wow. What do you believe?”

“We believe that Jesus Christ is Creator, God’s Son, and personal Redeemer for each human being,” I said. “We are His children, and He is returning soon to take us home to His home in heaven. His favorite activity is forgiving sinners and transforming our lives with His love and joy.

“And since we believe that the Bible is God’s Word,” I continued between breaths, “we worship on Saturday, as the Bible says.”

The road back seemed longer and the snow deeper, but Sheba pulled on her leash, and I followed her toward the distant parking lot high above us.

“Sounds good.”

Joe was quiet for several minutes, then began speaking softly.

“I am a born-again Christian, saved by the blood of Jesus Christ. About four years ago I left a relationship in which my girlfriend’s values and mine conflicted. I began reading my Bible more every day and learning how to live His life.”

Sheba lay down in the snow.

“Something odd’s been happening since I gave my heart to Jesus,” Joe continued. “I feel I need to pray for people around me. Often I sense that someone has a special need and that I am to pray with them.

“One day I was delivering cleaning supplies to a business near our hardware store, but the man who was to open the gates for me was late. I called my office and was told I’d need to wait about 10 minutes.

“There was an older woman sitting on a bench nearby, and another woman leaning on a walker. I sat down with them, asked their names, and began listening to their stories. Then God told me that the woman with the walker needed me to pray for her knees.

“‘May I pray for your knees?’ I asked her.

“‘Would you, please!’ she answered.

“Before long I was praying for knees, shoulders, feet, children, grandchildren, and husbands,” Joe told me.

We walked on, now more interested in the conversation than in the walk.

“How do you know when to pray?” I asked Joe.

“I’m not sure,” Joe answered. “But if I start the day with God, it’s easier for me to hear when He has something for me to do.

“One day a few weeks ago,” he continued, “I saw three people walking down a street, knocking on doors. One of them, an older man, left the group and sat down on the side of the road. I drove on by, trying to ignore God’s voice telling me to stop and pray for the man’s hip. I finally gave in and turned around.

“It was several blocks back to the man, but when I arrived, he was still sitting by the road. I sat down beside him and asked if I could pray for his hip.

“ ‘No,’ he answered. ‘You are not of my church, so I cannot have you pray for me.’

“ ‘How about if we make a trade?’ I asked. ‘I’ll take one of your tracts if you’ll let me pray for your hip.’

“He agreed to the trade and then asked me how I knew about his bad hip.

“ ‘God told me about your hip,’ I said, ‘and also told me to come back and pray for you.’

“I prayed for his hip, his marriage, his children, and his friends,” Joe said. “It was a long prayer, well received.”

The Reflection That Mattered Most

We stopped again on the snowy road, moonlight now painting our path with silver light.

“It’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me,” Joe said. “When I gave God my life and accepted Jesus as my personal Redeemer, everything in my life shifted from dark to light. Now my life has meaning.”

Sheba stood and pulled me toward home. When we arrived at the car, Joe handed me the heavy tripod and camera and thanked me for the privilege of carrying them.

“Let’s keep praying for each other,” Joe said. “I’ll be praying for God to continue to bless you.”

Then Joe put his hand on my shoulder and prayed—for my family, for my tired legs, for my camera, and for my beautiful friend Sheba. Then he walked to his rental car, waved, and was gone.

I love the reflection photos I took that night. But even more, I love the reflection of Jesus I saw in Joe.