Phaedra Smith, Associate Director of Children and Youth Ministry
When a nine-mile hike around a lake turns into a 15-mile trudge through knee-high burrs in the dark, one quickly learns the importance of pivoting the plan.
My twin sister and her boyfriend recently moved to Sacramento to pursue their respective career goals. They had been planning on going on a three-day backpacking trip Independence Day weekend, hiking 28 total miles with everything they needed to survive on their backs. When we all realized we had the same days off for the holiday, I naively bought myself a backpack, some shoes, and a plane ticket.
Backpacks packed, each weighing around 20 pounds, we began our hike. We would start off slowly, only going nine miles the first day and stopping at the lake to set up camp. One mile in, we found ourselves back at the start. Evidently, we had missed a critical turnoff of our trail, forcing us to hike back the trail we had just come from.
At mile four, we saw a sign for an extra mile to an overlook with a gift shop at the top! How could we resist? The gift shop would provide some much-needed air conditioning and a water refill. Except there was no gift shop. Just one dilapidated porch to view the lake from. No AC. No water. We kept going.
The heat began to climb. At mile six, the temperature was 110 degrees and spots with shade were few and far between. We stopped for a snack and to “camel up” on water. Half a mile later, I realized I was missing my prescription sunglasses. I turned back, adding another mile to my tally. I never found the sunglasses. Three miles later, realizing our dot on the map hadn’t made nearly as much progress as we thought it had, we chose to wait out the heat and eat lunch at a vacant campground by the lake. We swam and cooled off until 5 pm, starting up again for what we hoped would be the final leg of our trip.
The sun began to set, bugs emerged, and we had yet to even see the lake again since we left our lunch spot. Picking up the pace, we marched on. Crossing rivers, filling water up in the creek, climbing over fallen trees; at mile 13, we were exhausted with no end in sight. Anxiety spiked as we found ourselves in complete darkness, with only one real headlamp between the three of us.
We finally heard voices far off and walked the fastest we had all day. At mile 15, our map showed us right on top of our campsite, but we were standing in the middle of a fallen tree. We decided that we must have missed the turnoff and began walking through the knee-high burrs that got stuck to every article of clothing we had on. Making every step, quite literally, painful. Finally reaching the lake at 11 pm, we gave up on finding our intended campsite and went to sleep.
After pulling ticks off us all night and sleeping on the hard ground, we woke up at 5 am to the sound of voices from the next campsite over. Still physically and emotionally aching from the day before, we begged our new neighbors for refuge on their boat. They happily boated us back to the start, where we hiked three miles back to our car. Giving up on the rest of the lake. We spent the rest of the weekend inside, watching YouTube videos on how to backpack.
While the analogy is cliché and overused, so much of the hike reminded me of life. Crossing rivers, turning back for something you lost, never finding it, climbing over fallen trees, missing the turnoff you planned on, walking back the same path you had already climbed. The general sentiment being that if we just keep going, we will eventually find our place. Even when we thought we had found it though, we were still about a hundred feet away.
I’m not sure what the lesson is in all of this is. Whether it is to just keep going and you will find a way through. Or that some days you will be the hikers in need of rescue and other days you will have the boat. Or maybe it’s just that you should do a little more research before setting out on a risky endeavor.
Whatever the takeaway is, I’m sure that God is playing some part in it, teaching me something I never knew I needed to learn.
