The Joy Walk
A few months back, I had the privilege of attending a women’s retreat with some amazing ladies, friends from our church. We enjoyed the gift of staying at a lovely camp on the southside of the James River. For three days we considered what it means to “Cultivate Joy”. After lessons and discussions, readings and songs, crafting of collages, we were all sent on a “Joy Walk”.
What exactly is a “Joy Walk?”
We were given twenty minutes to head outside and go wherever we felt drawn, to notice anything along our walk that might bring us joy. Following our time outdoors, we would then spend five minutes writing about our experiences.
Leaving the meeting room, I wanted to grab my jacket from the lodge before being outside for a bit. This is the kind of activity that I love so I was eager to get going. But as I walked to the room and rounded the corner of the sidewalk, I noticed the patch of ground next to me. In this very small space, there were several kinds of seeds: tulip poplar, beech, sweetgum, and oak seeds. After cozying into my fleece jacket, I took out my camera and captured this little square of dirt with the variety of seeds—a picture of hope for what is to come.
On the ridge between the river and where I was standing, there was a gap where the two hills came together. At the very least, it would be a beautiful view of the river, so I headed to see what was there. Through damp grass, I ventured forward until I reached the hilltop area which was as far as I’d previously seen. To my surprise, I discovered in front of me, moving down the hill toward the river, was a marked trail. The large tree about ten feet down had a big white trailblaze mark on it. I smiled. There’s nothing like discovering you’re on a path that you didn’t even know was a path and realizing that there are markers to guide you forward. So, forward I went—down to the left and then rounding back down to the right, making my way along the hillside next to the river. Trees were bare, the sky was clouded over, and the air was crisp. Just ahead, I discovered a second trail marker. Snapping a second picture of the way-markers, I hiked on. Just as the trail came around the next bend, I looked at the hillside stretched upward on my right. A tree above had fallen over, exposing its’ roots and much of the hillside was earth that had been slowing washing down with each rain. Poking out of the dirt, across at least a twenty-foot stretch ahead and ten feet high, were fossils. Many Chesapecten Jeffersonius, Virginia’s state fossils, were hanging out of the hillside. The ground was covered with brown leaves and I found that I needed to sweep them out of the way to keep from stepping on fossils. A few that were on the ground or that released easily without requiring any tugging or digging, became treasure. Some were the size of saucers.
In my excitement I could hear myself repeatedly gasping in disbelief and saying things like, “oh my goodness”, “I don’t want to step on them”, “I can’t believe this”, “what a gift”, and “this is ridiculous abundance”!
Making my way back to our meeting room, I couldn’t wait to share my good fortune—the treasures of my “Joy Walk”. I must have sounded pretty crazy when I walked in dirty, carrying big muddy scallop shells, saying something like, “I’ve been to heaven”. While it sounded nutty, even to me, it was how I was feeling. There was no adequate way to truly convey my overwhelm.
As instructed, I got back to my journal and wrote:
My “Joy Walk” revealed seeds of hope, markers for the pathway, and a ridiculous abundance of goodness.
Joy Walk, indeed.
