Yesterday, my husband and I hiked an obscure trail first established ninety years ago but one that I had not hiked before. As we proceeded down the rock-studded, root-tangled, and eroded pathway, we surmised that perhaps it had not been maintained in that length of time and obviously not often traveled.
The trail itself would not win any awards, but the surrounding trees and accompanying creek made up for it. And as we hiked deeper into the thick green forest, we called out “Hey bear!” and clapped our hands to keep from surprising the residents. You never know what you’ll find around the next bend.
But fear did not restrict us. And the wonder of God’s creation beckoned us to go farther.
At one point, within a half mile of our turn-around, an enormous tree had recently fallen across the trail, its leaves still green. A chaos of branches and the massive trunk formed an impenetrable road block. “Time to turn around and call it a day?” Bill asked, verbalizing the obvious. But then seconds later, more in character, rising to the occasion, pushing aside some large branches and grabbing hold of a steadfast limb, he suggested, “Let’s see how we can do this.”
Up and over, we both pulled ourselves, not something I would have ever attempted on my
own. As we continued hiking, I realized that
simple incidents, such as this, grant us the courage to face the daunting fallen
trees on our daily journeys. “Let’s see
how we can do this” sets in place a different mindset, a creative challenge rather
than instantaneous defeat. God's faithfulness and strength are always discovered there.
Alongside the little clearing where we ate lunch, a thigh-deep rushing creek bounded over rocks and flowed down the slope. Bill fished, catching far more than he ever expected, and releasing them back into the cool waters. I sat on a large rock, drinking in the sights and reading Wendell Berry poetry that seemed as perfect lyrics set to the symphony around me.
We began hiking back up the trail towards the trailhead about four miles away, scrambling over the fallen tree which was no longer so daunting. Bill fished along the way. And then as the larger creek pulled away from the trail, little rock-hopping tributaries crossed our path. At one point a stream was the trail. My shoes became muddy and my socks soaked. But that didn’t seem to matter any more.
At one dribble of a stream not three feet wide and maybe four inches deep, Bill laughingly dropped his line in the water.
Within seconds, he was no longer laughing, but delighted. At the end of his line, as fast as he cast it, a beautiful unexpected brook trout appeared. Who would have ever thought a fish that size could have come out of such a small patch of water?
And what -- if anything -- can come out of this? This ordinary day, this mundane task, out of our own unnoticed hard work, this difficulty or impossible situation? The adversary always claims "It doesn't matter," when indeed it does. But God says, "Now watch what I do with this."
Faithfulness is sown in places that only seem inconsequential. Fruitfulness sometimes emerges
full grown in the most unlikely places. Nothing is insignificant
in God’s economy. No effort that He cannot use.
In our own little dribble of water, may we be amazed at what God is bringing out of the impossible. Astonished at what God redeems. Surprised at what God is up to. And far beyond what we expect. We rarely grasp what is below the surface.
They went out and got into the boat,
but that night they caught nothing.
Just as day was breaking,
Jesus stood on the shore;
yet the disciples did not know
it was Jesus.
Jesus said to them, “Children,
do you have any fish?”
They answered Him, “No.”
He said to them,
“Cast the net on the right side of the boat,
and you will find some.”
So they cast it,
and now they were not able to haul it in,
because of the quantity of fish.
John 21. 3-6
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