As I steadied myself against a tree, breathing hard and sweating profusely, weakness and fatigue replacing what hope I had of hiking to the top of the mountain; dehydration was making me feel dizzy and sick. With what resolve remained, I prayed.
Prayers for strength. Prayers for provision. Prayers that we could catch up to our children and their friends who took off with the backpacks containing all of the food and water, in no way realizing the danger we would face.
Concerned with hitting the trail head as soon as we could that morning, I was more focused on making sure the backpacks were full than on my immediate need for breakfast. I specifically wore lightweight pants with plenty of pockets, but never got around to filling them with granola bars, allowing the others to take on the task of carrying food. My husband had two water bottles in his fanny pack. I had nothing except my will to do a 12-mile hike up and down a mountain.
At the beginning of the hike I thought about how healing it is to get back to nature--that it would be odd to be terribly upset when life is springing up in abundance all around in its infinite array of beauty. The sound of birds calling out to each other in beautiful melodies; the variation of scents wafting through the trees and over the dirt and rocks; the cool breeze, offering a respite from the heat of a summer's day--all beckoned to me. I was walking into a greater sense of well-being, becoming more joyful with each step my hiking boot clad feet would take.
As expected, the boys (and girl) forged on ahead of us--their laughter and voices fading in the distance, leaving behind my marathon-running husband with the slowest one: me.
After finishing off one of the water bottles, I began to realize the one granola bar I had hastily eaten in the parking lot would be far from satisfying my need for food. It wasn't that I felt hungry, it was more that my body needed fuel to operate correctly. Beginning stages of dehydration were forcing me to take more rest breaks as I became increasingly more depleted. Not thinking clearly, I overlooked the fact that my husband was offering me the water in his water bottle as well, which would soon be empty.
I was rapidly approaching what we as cyclists years ago in Colorado had referred to as the bonk. A similar condition to that of a runner hitting the wall, the bonk is what happens when a cyclist runs out of energy and can no longer ride. Once this condition is reached, it is not possible to will oneself back on a bicycle. The body shuts down; the mind becomes numb. Ceasing activity, regardless of what that may ultimately mean, takes precedence over all other thoughts and actions. Having experienced the bonk on a ride once, I knew better. As an experienced hiker, I had no excuse.
I started to daydream about lying down beside the trail while my husband went ahead without me.
Not sure whether I was imagining it or not, I began to hear voices which we soon recognized as we came across our group sitting on a huge rock passing around a loaf of bread to dip into a jar of peanut butter, and sharing water bottles, granola bars and a bag of almonds.
Taking a wrong trail had set them back twenty minutes, allowing us to catch up with them.
I would get the food and water I needed to hike to the top of the mountain where I would have a rescue Coke and make my way back down again, somewhat dehydrated and still sore three days later.
The idea of God's will has been in the forefront of my mind ever since.
It was His will that we all survive the hike. It was His will that I get the assistance I needed. But how in the world did the group take the wrong path when the trails were clearly marked? Was it God's will they get lost so we would meet up with them in time? Could my prayers for help only be answered by hampering the goals of others? I would never pray for my sons to become lost on a trail and yet was celebrating that they in fact had.
I tend to think of God as an old guy in an exceedingly large room filled with charts, plans, schedules and whatever else is needed to keep track of each one of His children. Did He decide the boys would be in no danger if they took a detour but since my health was deteriorating rapidly, He could use them to help? Did He somehow shield their eyes from seeing what was clearly marked on the trail signs? If we had not met up with them, we were in danger of hiking at least another hour possibly with no water for either of us, as my husband had stopped drinking his water bottle to give it to me and it was nearly empty. We did meet a man on the trail who was hiking down with camping provisions who may have been able to share with us. Did God have other plans for those provisions?
My plan was to take a strenuous hike up a mountain with my family. I knew it would probably take about nine hours and be difficult, but did not think it would present the challenge I actually faced. Having no expectation for any specific outcome other than to assume I would have no problems, I had to trust God to help me. I had no idea what His answer would be. We live our lives and make our choices to the best of our abilities each day. We put our hope in our intelligence, our health, our preparation, and leave the rest to God. We trust that our plans will somehow equate His plans. We know we are not in charge. We, however, often act as though we are.
We seek God's will, but do any of us on any given day know for certain exactly what that means?
Prayers for strength. Prayers for provision. Prayers that we could catch up to our children and their friends who took off with the backpacks containing all of the food and water, in no way realizing the danger we would face.
Concerned with hitting the trail head as soon as we could that morning, I was more focused on making sure the backpacks were full than on my immediate need for breakfast. I specifically wore lightweight pants with plenty of pockets, but never got around to filling them with granola bars, allowing the others to take on the task of carrying food. My husband had two water bottles in his fanny pack. I had nothing except my will to do a 12-mile hike up and down a mountain.
At the beginning of the hike I thought about how healing it is to get back to nature--that it would be odd to be terribly upset when life is springing up in abundance all around in its infinite array of beauty. The sound of birds calling out to each other in beautiful melodies; the variation of scents wafting through the trees and over the dirt and rocks; the cool breeze, offering a respite from the heat of a summer's day--all beckoned to me. I was walking into a greater sense of well-being, becoming more joyful with each step my hiking boot clad feet would take.
As expected, the boys (and girl) forged on ahead of us--their laughter and voices fading in the distance, leaving behind my marathon-running husband with the slowest one: me.
After finishing off one of the water bottles, I began to realize the one granola bar I had hastily eaten in the parking lot would be far from satisfying my need for food. It wasn't that I felt hungry, it was more that my body needed fuel to operate correctly. Beginning stages of dehydration were forcing me to take more rest breaks as I became increasingly more depleted. Not thinking clearly, I overlooked the fact that my husband was offering me the water in his water bottle as well, which would soon be empty.
I was rapidly approaching what we as cyclists years ago in Colorado had referred to as the bonk. A similar condition to that of a runner hitting the wall, the bonk is what happens when a cyclist runs out of energy and can no longer ride. Once this condition is reached, it is not possible to will oneself back on a bicycle. The body shuts down; the mind becomes numb. Ceasing activity, regardless of what that may ultimately mean, takes precedence over all other thoughts and actions. Having experienced the bonk on a ride once, I knew better. As an experienced hiker, I had no excuse.
I started to daydream about lying down beside the trail while my husband went ahead without me.
Not sure whether I was imagining it or not, I began to hear voices which we soon recognized as we came across our group sitting on a huge rock passing around a loaf of bread to dip into a jar of peanut butter, and sharing water bottles, granola bars and a bag of almonds.
Taking a wrong trail had set them back twenty minutes, allowing us to catch up with them.
I would get the food and water I needed to hike to the top of the mountain where I would have a rescue Coke and make my way back down again, somewhat dehydrated and still sore three days later.
The idea of God's will has been in the forefront of my mind ever since.
It was His will that we all survive the hike. It was His will that I get the assistance I needed. But how in the world did the group take the wrong path when the trails were clearly marked? Was it God's will they get lost so we would meet up with them in time? Could my prayers for help only be answered by hampering the goals of others? I would never pray for my sons to become lost on a trail and yet was celebrating that they in fact had.
I tend to think of God as an old guy in an exceedingly large room filled with charts, plans, schedules and whatever else is needed to keep track of each one of His children. Did He decide the boys would be in no danger if they took a detour but since my health was deteriorating rapidly, He could use them to help? Did He somehow shield their eyes from seeing what was clearly marked on the trail signs? If we had not met up with them, we were in danger of hiking at least another hour possibly with no water for either of us, as my husband had stopped drinking his water bottle to give it to me and it was nearly empty. We did meet a man on the trail who was hiking down with camping provisions who may have been able to share with us. Did God have other plans for those provisions?
My plan was to take a strenuous hike up a mountain with my family. I knew it would probably take about nine hours and be difficult, but did not think it would present the challenge I actually faced. Having no expectation for any specific outcome other than to assume I would have no problems, I had to trust God to help me. I had no idea what His answer would be. We live our lives and make our choices to the best of our abilities each day. We put our hope in our intelligence, our health, our preparation, and leave the rest to God. We trust that our plans will somehow equate His plans. We know we are not in charge. We, however, often act as though we are.
We seek God's will, but do any of us on any given day know for certain exactly what that means?
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