Yesterday, my husband and I went on another hike, our third day in a row of training for our backpacking trip in August.
If you’re interested in specifics, you can find his account of our hike here.
The trail was what most hikers would consider to be “easy,” but for my poor, out-of-shape body, it was a serious exercise in survival. I even had to break out the trekking poles near the end of the hike because my knee decided to complain a little too loudly.
It was humbling dragging my falling-apart body along next to my husband’s 20-mile-day-hike stamina. But it was also encouraging and inspiring to have him by my side, helping me keep the pace.
Here’s what I learned today:
- Slow and steady wins the race. (An oldie, but a goodie.)
- Shin splints require special stretches. The stretches hurt, but I can actually walk afterwards.
- Gu Chews are not as gross as they sound.
- Staying hydrated requires more forethought and intention when it’s hotter out.
- Hiking is more fun when you hike slowly enough to be able to talk.
- I can actually hike three miles uphill without having to stop if my pace is slow enough and my stride short enough.
- My husband is a brilliant and deep thinker. (Another oldie, but I like being reminded.)
- Bear poop is called scat.
- Steep trails are easier to hike at lower elevations.
- If you hike with your mouth open, you might eat a bug.
As we plodded along the wide, dusty trail (okay, I plodded. My husband strolled.), I started thinking again about Much-Afraid and her journey into the High Places to meet the Good Shepherd on the Mountain of Spices. I thought about how her feet were crippled and how the Good Shepherd sent her with two companions — Sorrow and Suffering — to support her (physically and emotionally) all the way to their destination.
(I know, I think about Hinds Feet on High Places a lot.)
Being in the back country of Santa Barbara with my husband, I realized our hike was a lot like the past few years of my spiritual journey:
- I had to walk my path myself — no one could do the hard work for me.
- I had a destination, but I couldn’t see it when we started and didn’t know what would be required of me before I got there.
- The way laid out for me may not have been the hardest way ever, but I found it challenging.
- I walked with someone who had been there before, knew the way, and had resources I didn’t.
- I did a good job keeping the pace for a while, but after our turn-around point, I got tired and lagged behind or rushed and hurried ahead.
Keeping the pace is one of the hardest tasks for me. It requires all my effort and concentration to live in the middle and stay balanced. I need support and encouragement (and gentle reminders) all along the way, or I revert back to my default mode of rush-lag-rush-lag.
With my spiritual walk, it was my spiritual director who knew the way, who had resources I didn’t, who could see the path in a way I couldn’t, who supported, encouraged, and reminded me to slow-down-but-not-stop, to choose a pace and stride that would sustain me through the whole journey.
With our hike today, it was my husband who knew the way, who had sunscreen and hiking food and extra water, who pointed out the garter snake I nearly stepped on and predicted the elevation gain.
Whether our hikes are physical or spiritual, we benefit from having a companion to walk beside us, share the journey, and continually remind us to keep the pace.
Experienced mountaineers have a quiet, regular, short step — on the level it looks petty; but then this step they keep up, on and on as they ascend, whilst the inexperienced townsman hurries along, and soon has to stop, dead beat with the climb….Such an expert mountaineer, when the thick mists come, halts and camps out under some slight cover brought with him, quietly smoking his pipe, and moving on only when the mist has cleared away….You want to grow in virtue, to serve God, to love Christ? Well, you will grow in and attain to these things if you will make them a slow and sure, an utterly real, a mountain stepplod and ascent, willing to have to camp for weeks or months in spiritual desolation, darkness and emptiness at different stages in your march and growth. All demand for constant light, for ever the best — the best to your own feeling, all attempt at eliminating or minimizing the cross and trial, is so much soft folly and puerile trifling. — Baron Friedrich von Hugel (as quoted in Run with the Horses, Eugene Peterson, p. 109-10)
My husband and I just spent the day in Kings Canyon National Park. Because of my back pain and fatigue issues, this was our first real outside adventure since we moved to Santa Barbara (unless you count snowboarding near Las Vegas in January, during which I stood up a grand total of three times on the bunny slope and quit after the first hour). We want to go backpacking in August, so I need to start getting back into shape after spending the last few months mostly in, on, or near the bed.
All day today, I couldn’t get this quotation (above) out of my head. I am learning to use the “quiet, regular, short step” of the experienced mountaineer.
My husband is constantly reminding me to slow down, pace myself, and enjoy the surroundings, but my destination-oriented brain is solely focused on getting from point A to point B as quickly as possible. I want to be finished, to go back to the car feeling successful. I want to hurryupandgetthere!
I’m the same way in my spiritual life. I want the “fun stuff” of God’s revelation without putting in the time being quiet, being regular, and being well-paced.
But I’m easily distracted, rushed, irregular. I fill up my days with television and music and talking and all the loudness of life. And when I do set aside time to be still and quiet and experience the presence of God — I want to hurryupandgetthere, too!
But today, in Kings Canyon, we didn’t really have much of a destination at all. The park itself was our destination, and so I was able to enjoy being at the place we wanted to get to, wandering among the meandering paths — paved and unpaved.
For the first time, I was aware of more than just my feet plodding, rushing to the next shaded spot, the crux of the next hill. I was aware of more than just my labored breathing, my annoying allergies, my sciatic nerve.
For the first time, I was able to really look at the mountains and the trees, enjoy the grassy meadows and rivers, feel the mist on my face from the waterfall, notice the smell of pine and cedar on the breeze, look back at my husband and smile.
– Isn’t this great?
For the first time, I was able to appreciate the journey, pace myself appropriately, and experience the healing and renewal that come with just being outside among the sun and shade and surprising beauty.
There’s something about being outdoors that opens us up to natural revelation, to the friendly camaraderie of strangers enjoying a common activity, and to the slow and steady pace and rhythm of a lifelong pursuit of Jesus.
Not a bad way to spend a Sunday.