O Lord, I have always found you closer in the light streaming through branches than through stained glass, in the sound of leaves underfoot than the harmonies of organ, in the scent of humus and moss than incense on the altar. Why, then, do I neglect to come here, into this first chapel, first sanctuary where you walked with Adam and Eve when all things were younger? This trail requires presence. Ten thousand steps to step, each one a danger: a rolled ankle a trip and fall a missed mark and I am lost. But this rock and root strewn trail seems better to me than the smooth and falsely easy trail I typically traverse. This trail breathes life. My routine route respirates regret. Most days I submit to the siren song of importance and deadlines of tasks that must be accomplished now; even tasks done in your name, O Lord, and for your Kingdom’s sake; and I regret. I regret what time I have spent on the smooth trail what I have done and what I have not what I have said and what I have not. Even, when this incorrectly inescapable treadmill trail becomes too much, I regret that you made me; I regret that I am. But I have never regretted one moment out here with you.