A Hike Through Life

Several years ago, I was between jobs and decided to take this opportunity to go on a “Vision Quest.” I would go on a week-long trek along the Pecos River. My daughter dropped me off at the Santa Rosa Lake. My plan was to follow the river, and I would call her when I got to a small town several miles up stream. I didn’t take water, planning to use the river as my source. The first few days went well. Getting down to the river itself from the jagged lava bluff was difficult at first but once there, I just hiked along the bank. At night I listened to the coyotes sing. About the third or fourth day, the river took a sharp turn to the right and, rather than walk along the bank, I continued straight. That was easier than struggling through the thick brush and mesquite that tried to rip me to pieces. My plan was to rejoin the river when I came to a stretch that was more meadowy.

But after a couple miles, I realized I was quite a ways from the river now. And my path to rejoin it was now blocked by mounds of talus and scree, loose rocks and gravel that formed seemingly endless ridges. The only way to the river was scrambling up one ridge, slide down the other side and scramble up the next. It was a perfect illustration of one step forward, two steps back. That was how difficult progress was. I was getting exhausted trying to climb these ridges. Using the hiker tactic of going up at an angle rather than straight on, didn’t work. Each step on the loose gravel, caused my feet to slip back down. There just wasn’t any easy way to do this. Each time I managed to get to the top of a ridge, I looked in the distance to see how far it still was to the river. And each time I checked, the answer was the same—far.

Doing this all day was taxing, for sure. But I was running out of water, and I didn’t really want to camp on these rocks. Exasperated, I appealed to God for mercy. “What’s up with this, God? Why must this be so difficult? Why all these obstacles? I just want to hike along the river.”

“What do you want, a parking lot?” came his answer. I had to sit down for that one. He was right. All the problems and troubles we face aren’t obstacles to life. They ARE life. Without obstacles, we are just strolling through a parking lot. Paved, easy going, nothing to trip us up or block our sight, nothing to surprise us. Do we really want that kind of life? Obstacles aren’t fun for sure. But they teach us problem solving, reliance on him. Challenge us to do our absolute best.

With my renewed attitude, I was more patient with myself and with the challenge--the obstacle-- before me. I paid closer attention to what might present a more stable place to step. Yes, I did make it to the river, renewed my water supply and camped on the comfort of dirt and leaves.

Since that trek, I’ve had to remind myself many, many times that life indeed is not a parking lot. It’s a hiking trail.