Mile, mile and a half

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

We had almost completed our passage through the woods, when we saw two women with a frantic-looking purse-sized dog standing stranded at the side of the trail, searching the GPS on their phones, as obvious as tourists lost on the Champs Elysee holding an enormous map.

They were looking for the "white" trail in the park's confusing network of interwoven paths of many colors.  My husband Bill gave them directions, and when they asked how far, he replied, "Mile, mile and a half."  The women looked greatly relieved.  "Oh, we can do that."

I chuckled.   On so many trails we have hiked through the years, the destination always seems to be coming up in a  "mile, mile and a half," according to Bill.  On a long uphill slog that seems to last forever, those words are not just a measurement of distance, not just practical advice, but a gift of hope. You are not done, but you are going to make it through.  This difficult part of the trail is not going to last forever.  Nor this impossible segment of life.

Despite blisters, heavy backpacks, unanticipated steep slopes, and turns in the trail when you thought it was the end but it was not.  Even then.  Mile, mile and a half, gives hope.  Not a cellophane-thin sparkly wishful thinking kind of hope, but a reality on which you can stake your life.

A reality, because we ourselves at one time or another have been handed hope and received mercy which empowers us to "find grace to help in the time of need." (Hebrews 4. 16) 

Endurance is sticking with it just a little bit longer.  Success has nothing to do with it.  Just not quitting yet.  It is not just believing, but knowing, you have yet another gear. Mile, mile and a half.  That strength from God, which is not our own, then overflows into the lives of every one around us.

You will get through this miry bog, this impossibly steep slope, through the glory of the trees.  And come out, maybe not in a familiar place, but strengthened in the journey.