04/21/2026
"The Church Without Walls"
They asked me once, "Where is your church?"
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I smiled and pointed to the horizon.
“To the east, where the sun rises and paints the sky with fire - there, I begin my prayers.
To the north, where the winds carry the wisdom of the ancestors - I listen and learn.
To the west, where the sun dies gently each day - I give thanks for the lessons.
To the south, where life grows and renews - I find healing and hope.”
My church does not have doors, but it welcomes all.
Its roof is the sky, sometimes fierce with storms, sometimes calm with stars.
Its walls are made of pine and river, stone and silence.
And its teachings are written in birdsong, in paw prints, in the way the water moves over stone.
Nature is not something I worship.
It is something I belong to.
I carry no book, for the Earth writes stories in every leaf and every breath.
I follow no preacher, but I follow the wolf, the crow, the cedar tree.
They have never lied to me.
So no, I don’t need a building to find my spirit.
I just need to stand barefoot in the soil and remember:
The Earth is my church.
And nature is my religion.
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