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| 1,000-foot climb at Mile 3 - Tired Me |
Some of the additional poundage could not be avoided: a bear canister in which all food must be stored, layers of clothing, raingear, food for a five-day journey. Maybe four pairs of socks was a bit too much, but that is where my excess ended.
In the past I'd learned of an unnecessary, even harmful addition to the weight of my pack: the hammer of condemnation. At times I have necessarily imagined laying a heavy hammer down on the side of the trail as I hike. And what a lighter load I have to carry after doing so!
The hammer pounds into me who and how I'm not compared with who and how I think I ought to be. The messages of the hammer go something like this:
"Real hikers don't have any extra tummy bulging above their waistbelts, and they look a lot more like the people in the REI catalog than you do, firm, smooth and strong."
"If you were really amazing, you'd go a lot faster. You'd take those big, granite steps head on rather than finding shortcuts around them."
"Your pack needs adjusting? It's not the pack; it's you. Your frame is wrong and twisted or this pack would fit you fine. You are wrong."
"Uphill shouldn't be difficult. You are just weak and lazy. You can't do hard things."
"How dare you enjoy this time? People in the world -- and even people you know -- are suffering."
Oh, and this one: "Your husband wishes he were married to a truly athletic woman. You are holding him back and are a burden to him."
(All the above messages have been hard battles, but the italicized one has brought many tears and much wrestling with God. He won -- well, I guess we both did -- and I came out changed, like Jacob. And, yes, like Jacob I limp.)
Even though I'd abandoned the hammer on a dusty trail in Southern California over 300 miles away, the ugly, heavy tool tried to get me to take on its damning lies once in a while as I faintly remembered what it previously pounded into me. The lies now passed as quickly as they popped up because I'd learned that living, moving and having my being in Christ is more fun, free and light -- and where I was made to be.
As I see me as He sees me and live under the adoring gaze of my Creator, I dance, not as if no one were watching, rather as if Someone who is bursting with love, grace and delight toward me cannot take His eyes off of me. Sometimes I picture Jesus hiking in front of me backwards, as though we are two ice skaters. When I start to wonder what my husband, Brent, is thinking of me (Brent has been nothing but encouraging about our hikes, so this comes from me and the hammer), I look at Jesus, and He reminds me of what He thinks of me and feels toward me, which is what matters most. Best of all, I begin to believe it and live in that place.
Nevertheless, this load was a heavy one, and my shoulders were carrying the brunt of it. We stopped to adjust my straps often, which helped slightly but did not provide enough relief for me to walk without agony. During miles two to four, when we were hiking switchbacks over a steep, rocky hillside in the heat of the day, I began to ask God to help me shift the weight to my hips, where it belonged. He gave me the idea to relax my shoulders and allow my whole body to help carry the burden. I physically was bracing too much. Just like when life gets hard and I try to shoulder the responsibilities I've been given all on myself and don't ask for help, I was overwhelmed and exhausted. I will sometimes encounter a difficult situation with the attitude that I had better brace and strive because this is a tough thing I'm about to do, when really, God is calling me to settle into the now of my life, receive it as a gift from Him, seek to know and love Him more in that place and call on Him to help me. He has given me His presence with me and resources (in this case, the rest of my body that needed to share the load), and beckons me to use them.
I considered a phrase I had not previously pondered, "deep-seated gratitude." We experience gratitude in our bodies in the "seat" of us, between our hips (if you sit with your gratitude for long and sense it in your body, you will see what I mean). I am fatigued as I try to let my life rest on my own shoulders. But as I receive with openness what is on my life's path as a gift, what I am carrying is much more manageable and even becomes enjoyable.
I began thanking God for His Presence with me and even for the difficulty of the trail, trusting Him to strengthen me. It is said God never gives us more than we can handle. I find that so funny. I believe He intentionally gives us more than we could possibly bear so we will realize our need to depend fully on Him and His offering of grace, strength and love toward us.
My ascension of the steep, switchbacked mountainside held for me new, refreshingly different messages from those of the hammer. Brent instructed me wisely in how to approach the too-high rock steps that drained me, leaving me huffing and puffing for air (the ones I'd previously thought I had to be amazing to conquer). "Look for intermediate steps," he encouraged, "to conserve your energy." Hikers I met coming from the opposite direction cheered my way, "You can do it!" or "You're doing great!" or my favorite, "Very soon you will see a waterfall!" Ah, the promise of beauty and refreshment ahead! I absorbed the encouragement offered as a sponge and let each word and smile that came my way fuel me. Having laid down the lies, there is space in me to receive truth.
And truth is always freeing.
