Vejlefjord is bordered on several sides by an inspiring beechwood forest. On pleasant Sunday mornings and afternoons, its many jogging trails and footpaths are visited by industrious Danes, intent on performing their ritualistic, weekly exercise. Although I love jogging, I have discovered an alternative mode of enjoying myself in the Danish wood: tree climbing. The smooth bark, stretching branches, and majestic bearing of Vejefjord's beech trees have reawakened my eleven-year-old passion for scrambling. With each new tree, I am driven to the highest bough by an inner urge I can't suppress. The rewards have been entirely worth the frozen fingers and the scuffed pant legs.At lunch today, I decided to pocket my apples and brown bread and find a forest perch in which to enjoy them. Following the path towards the donkey field, it wasn't long before I found a beckoning beech. It stood directly at the corner of two intersecting paths. Its posture was elegant and inviting. With several thoughtful foot placements and hand grasps I had wound myself around its trunk and was making promising headway. I was already about 3 meters in altitude. Yet, there were still six meters of climbable branch space above me. I pressed steadily upward, heedless of the wind and cold. All at once, a heavy clumping sound interrupted my concentration. Turning my eyes downward, I beheld Vibeke, our friendly literature teacher, jogging down the hill towards my tree. I smiled and waited for her wave of recognition. But I waited in vain. Without so much as a "good day," she thudded directly underneath me, paying no heed to my twig snapping or branch bending! Amazed by her lack of observation, I continued my ascent, chuckling to myself in amusement.
The brown rolls were delicious. Somehow, food always tastes better outside. As I munched contentedly, I watched a happy couple and their dog climbed out of their car and make their way across the field towards my lookout. I waited for the dog to begin barking and circling my trunk. I waited for the couple to holler a greeting. But again, my anticipation was disappointed. The three of them paused briefly at the bend in the trail to sniff and chat, but continued quickly onward. They walked directly underneath me, with never so much as an upward glance. I nearly dropped my apple in astonishment. Could it be that Danes were used to seeing bright red sweatshirts high up in beech trees during the leafless season? I wasn't trying to be inconspicuous. Could it be that people just weren't paying attention? As I pondered this thought, Vibeke returned from her jogging loop and thudded under me again. She still didn't know I was there.
How often do we look up? How often do we miss the things above, due to our focus on the things below? If the couple, or the dog, or Vibeke had simply turned their eyes upward, they would have been met by a smiling face and a friendly "hallo!" How often do we look up? How often do we miss God's blessing, simply because of our preoccupation with what's around us?
