In an effort to enlarge our network of known and familiar paths through the forest, yesterday we hiked a trail new to us. It was located in a corner of the woods we had driven past for many years, but had never bothered to stop and attempt. We knew where it started, approximate mileage, and that the terrain was vaguely hilly. But that was about it.
As we started off, the first almost two miles was a delight, a steady flowing stream, visually and audibly our constant companion. The path was an old logging road, gutted in parts, but wide and welcoming. It was moving at a gentle but upward incline. How had we missed this way before?
An arrow indicated a sharp left turn, scrambling across a single log bridge, and taking a new direction. After about another half mile of meandering, the trail began to ascend. And ascend. And ascend. At the top of each switchback, the trail bent uphill again.
We had not gone this way before. It was totally unknown to us. And the uphills kept going...well, uphill. Surely at the next bend, it would flatten out. Things would get easier. How much longer can this go on?
And a thought kept swirling in my brain, "Ascending doesn't have to be an uphill battle." I lifted up my eyes and looked around. I was missing the spectacular beauty of the deep crowd of trees surrounding us, and the festive and prolific rhododendrons uplifting the winter's grimness with their everlasting greenery, as if decorating the landscape for a year-long holiday.
I lift up my eyes to the hills,
from where does my help come?
My help comes from the LORD,
who made heaven and earth.
Psalm 121. 1-2
Up and up, we trekked, not knowing for how long. And then just as suddenly, the trail began its descent....without a spectacular view at the top of the mountain that we hadn't known we would be scaling. "Where is the view?" I said outloud. But there is not always a mountaintop revelation, yet always so much along the way we can scarce take it in....if we are even looking. It largely depends not on what we are seeing, but what we are looking for. We miss so much splendor right in front of us.
Starting this day, a very long year ago, we all began an ascent on the extremely hard covid trail, suddenly there, unknown to us and that seemed to go on forever. And when we came to what looked like the end or leveling off of the pandemic, it got even harder. There was a grace in not knowing how long and hard it would be.
But what we found was that God's faithfulness surrounded us all along the way, even through the adversity, and to know even more that we are not in control. We never have been. He is God, He is real, and He is right with us, even in our darkest moments.
And we are still hiking through it. And when we do get to the end of this, there will not be a new normal waiting at the trailhead, but new hearts within us, a new strength that is not our own, and trusting even deeper in God, even in mystery, even in what we still do not know. We have learned the melodies of the songs of ascent. We are beginning to know and sing the words. Worship pushes back the darkness. It doesn't flatten out the hard stuff, but God gives us His strength to endure and keep on going. We do not walk alone.
One time I asked one of our daughters who is an avid runner, "How do you get up those big hills along the way on your runs?" And she answered, "It depends on what you are thinking about."
For I, the LORD your God,
hold your right hand;
it is I who say to you,
"Fear not,
I am the one who helps you.
Isaiah 41. 13
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