Last night I watched this 50 minutes National Geographic documentary. I think I needed that inspiration. I was so neck-deep in little plastic baggies and instant rice, that I was forgetting the beauty and ruggedness that awaits me. Seeing all the panoramic views in that documentary made me realize where I was going, and partly, why I was going. It was both inspiring and overwhelming. I was like *gulp* - am I really prepared? Do I really know what I’m getting myself into?
And yet, I’m thinking, yes, I do – at least starting out. Those mountains – Blood Mountain, Curahee, Springer Mountain… those are MY mountains. I’ve hiked those. I’ve slept on them. I’m not afraid of them. In some ways, I feel like I’m going home. Home to my mountains – finally! But, I know I’m not. Those aren’t my mountains. I was a younger, angrier, very different person back when I last hiked those. My knees were in better shape. I didn’t care if I lived or died. I didn’t know about West Nile or Lyme’s. Bears were less habituated. Mother Nature wasn’t biting back quite so viciously 20 years ago – now, it seems, she is taking some vengeance on our abuse of her. And I may be caught in the middle of one of her storms.
Of course, none of that is stopping me. But, it does give me a healthy respect and a certain feeling of helplessness in the face of such vast power - which, I suppose, is a good thing to have. But it’s not a comfortable thing to have. I guess it’s good I’m not going out there to be comfortable.
I wonder if the anxiety comes from the unknown. I can’t replicate the Trail on the treadmill, in my room, in a backyard, even at a state park. I’m in flatland. I’m in a city. I’m in three feet of snow (and Mama “N” is not giving up winter yet). So, there are simply some things I cannot prepare or roleplay. I love improv games, but I hate doing a full blown musical without lots of rehearsals. The Trail is a full blown musical, and having sung karaoke in a few bars just isn’t going to land me the lead role on Broadway. Or even a chorus girl. So… how can I really know if I’m ready?
Ah yes, faith. Allowing myself to be a leaf on the wind (thanks Joss Weedon!), to be blown as the wind pleases, not as I please. To know that I am never truly ready, that I can be torn apart at a moment’s notice, that it’s not by my power that I am moving at all.
I have to give up myself, and allow myself to be at the mercy of what is more powerful. Nature = more powerful than me. God = more powerful than nature. So I surrender to Nature, knowing it is non-sentient and nonselective. And I surrender to God, knowing He sees me in the midst of Nature, that He is good and merciful, and that He has led me to this path at this moment in time for reasons that I cannot hope to understand. And perhaps in hindsight, I will learn some of the why, and perhaps I will see when I was being led and when I was attempting to lead, and I will see some of the consequences. But for now (before hindsight kicks in), I must trust that God knows me, sees me, loves me, and has a good plan for me. Even if that plan isn’t comfortable... Or always pleasant... Or clean - like the Trail. Yet it is ultimately satisfying. There is an inexplicable joy in being a leaf on the wind, one that cannot be rehearsed from the comforts of an air-conditioned condo complete with microwave, French press, and pizza delivery. That’s what I go to seek, and also to give – inexplicable joy beyond comfort or happiness or pleasure. I don’t expect to always find it, to live serenely as a leaf. I expect I will be grumpy and clawing for a measure of control and comfort more often than not. But perhaps, some of the time, I will be able to float on the wind, and that will encourage others to do the same, to try to surrender to the One who directs the wind.
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