Bushwhacking

We have taken trails before that we hadn’t yet tried.  Those marked paths have been engraved into the wilderness by many faithful people before us.  Their trailheads are highlighted by signs with official names, mileage, and arrows (go this way!)  Trail maps and guidebooks list directions, elevation gain, highlights and cautions.  One trail we contemplated last weekend listed 23 stream crossings – four required removal of boots and three warned of “treacherous” in spring.  We’ll wait on that one.

 A couple of days ago, my husband Bill asked me where I would like to hike that afternoon.  There was no chore that could not wait for the next day.  The deep blue covering of sky and the mild breeze called us into an adventure.

I wondered about that untrodden wilderness behind our cabin, a steep hill without so much as a visible pathway, strewn with dead trees and a creek rushing in a race down the hillside.  I wonder what it looks like on that ridge up there, if we can get to it.  I wonder where the creek comes from.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Why would we choose to bushwhack where there are no trails? I chuckled. “Because it’s there,” once replied British explorer George Mallory who attempted to summit Everest in 1924 and vanished in the effort.

The wilderness is not the unknown.  Just the unexplored.  And we are all surrounded by the unexplored.  We take for granted what is around us.  We have avoided the difficult and thereby forgotten the wonder of discovering something new. 

We justify our way out of it.  “But it might be hard.  It might be scary.”  And it might.

The mere thought prompted a childhood memory when my brothers and I would stuff food in our pockets, explore the vast woods that bordered our subdivision, and be gone until nightfall.  Our musician mom and scientist dad did not worry, quite unaware that we were gone.  We discovered trails where there were no trails, we built forts from discarded lumber found on construction sites and from tree branches.  In winter snow, we barreled crazily down the hillside on sleds, crashing into trees and ending up laughing in a tangle of brush.  We returned home shivering from cold, bruised and sometimes bleeding, but we had so much fun exploring.

Bill and I headed out the back door, realizing this bushwhacking venture might be quite short-lived.  Within a 100 feet, my hiking shoes were wet and muddy.  But with every step, wildflowers peeked shyly into sight.  We climbed over fallen trees, traipsed through downed limbs, and crossed the creek several times to find a way through the heavy brush.  A ridge up ahead gave us hope. 

The hardest part was a short rise covered in brambles, no way around, catching on our clothes, pulling at us with sharp thorns, and trying almost successfully to immobilize us.  The only thing to do at that point was to plow through.  I felt like I was reliving the woes and tribulations of Pilgrim’s Progress.

And at the ridge, there was another ridge rising before us.

There were no trails on that mountainside.  And at times, not even an apparent way through.  But we had gone so far, it was closer to keep going than to go back.

Or so we thought. 

We followed the creek and found in the midst of the forest, a forty-foot waterfall.  We had no idea it existed.  We are rarely aware of what God has entrusted within our care and reach and just a little bit beyond our vision.

We climbed even higher to get a good shot of the waterfall.  And then, another ridge appeared.

We kept going upward, at times the hillside so steep we were crawling with our hands, grasping every tree, every broken limb to pull us up and keep from sliding back down.  Careful what you put your trust in, I warned myself.  Too many branches I gripped for support came loose in my hands.  But even spindly trees came to my aid, giving me a handhold to pull myself up another few feet. 

Just a few yards further, just a few steps to that next tree I can grasp.  It was not a question of if we would make it.  We just had to keep going. 

Just because something is difficult does not mean God is not in it.  Don’t always select the easy way, the most comfortable and convenient.  Because when we choose to do something even a little harder, we learn not to be afraid and know how to trust God when life gets tough.  God never promised life would be easy, but “I am with you.”

And all the way we were covered by a strong fellowship of old growth trees and the majesty of God’s creation we could not have seen any other way.

We were not lost.  We just didn’t know where we were.

An old fire road finally came into view, a steadily drawn line barely perceptible --over there, up there, and finally under our feet.  And a hundred yards further, still following our creek, there was an old stump, a few rocks, and a vale of trees.  It was a hidden spring, the unlikely source of all that water streaming down the mountainside.  Not too different than how God provides in unexpected places and from the faithfulness of people we do not even know.

 

He split rocks in the wilderness,

and gave them drink abundantly as from the deep.

He made streams come out of the rock

and caused waters to flow down like rivers.

                              Psalm 78. 15-16

 

We reached the summit, completed our crazy venture, found the source of our creek -- but not through any strength of our own.  And God provided a wandering fire road in the middle of nowhere to lead us home.

 

And the LORD will guide you continually

and satisfy your desire in scorched places

and make your bones strong.

And you shall be like a watered garden,

like a spring of water,

whose waters do not fail.

                          Isaiah 59. 11

 

Sometimes we follow the trails.  And sometimes we bushwhack.