Getting lost and fear

Yes, I’m still reflecting on my recent walk in the hills.  One thing that struck me was the efforts of the unnamed people years before me who had built all the cairns and hammered in the marker poles or tags, who no doubt continued to keep watch that they weren’t being weathered away or knocked down.  I’ve always managed to get lost quite easily (though there’s nothing quite like being designated leader of a group or travelling alone to make one sit up and take notice!) These days I would much rather trade in the relative security of following the leader for the better awareness I have of my surroundings when I am alone or leading.  And that despite the ignominy of admitting I’ve made a wrong turning every now and then, and going back to get it right.

[I’m reminded of one of my children when little, quoting at me from a Berenstain Bear picture book – “It’s never too late to correct a mistake” which makes me smile, given that at the time I was telling him that I was driving in the wrong direction but was waiting for a U-turn opportunity to turn.  The best little kids’ books hold big truths, but I’m digressing.]

And I was also thinking of the previous evening when I was starting to think hopefully of arriving at my campsite, pondering the wisdom of taking shortcuts down this winding track into the valley.  I was tempted to sidle along the hillside off the track rather than follow its taking me up and then down and it came to me then that it’s not uncommon for the most direct route in life to be the one that looks more difficult, taking us up and down, and for our tendency to take what looks to be the easier way but turns out to take a lot longer.

I didn’t get lost then, but the following day, despite my being careful to identify cairns and marker poles as I went, there came a time, with the sun being directly overhead, where I could see the saddle I was heading for in the distance; however no matter how hard I looked I could not see the next cairn.  So eventually I used logic, decided that there was really only one way the track could go and I set off in that direction.

Perhaps there was only about 20-30 minutes of my scrambling over rocks and taking take not to slide hopelessly on scree, looking always for some sign of the path, before high above me I made out a few rocks balanced on a jutting boulder and headed for this.  And, luckily, it did turn out to be a cairn on the track I was looking for.

In that 20 minutes I was conscious of thinking dire thoughts such as my running out of food and water, and not being found, but not really allowing myself to ‘succumb’ to these fears.  And on I went. Well, maybe I’d opened the fear doorway a little.  Suddenly it seemed like all I could think of was that I had a pathetically small amount of food with me (this same lack of food hadn’t worried me at all a few hours beforehand), there might not be a water source near the track, and that my arms and legs (which I don’t cover with suncream) were getting quite a blasting from these hours of direct summer sunlight.

Luckily I chose to find the shade of a large rock and allow myself to be open to all these fears, as well as the denied fear of getting lost just previously.  A voice in my head said ‘why are you afraid?’ and I reflected that it was really all to do with how ashamed I would feel if people found me and how they would think I should have known better and been sensible and it was all my fault, and so on.  And the little voice said ‘God doesn’t feel that way about you’.

And suddenly (even as I write about it) I was shedding a few tears, of relief really, that I wasn’t being judged by God, and that it was OK to cry about the shame of feeling judged and know that God was right there with me.

So a few minutes later, feeling somewhat better, no longer worrying about sun or food or whatever, I carried on and up, again delighting in the terrain and the views and the glorious day and how good life can be.  I ate when I got hungry, drank when I got thirsty, didn’t worry about rationing myself at all, found all the water I needed along the track and finished my last biscuit not long before I was back at my campsite late in the afternoon.

But that’s not all.  Because I had a vague feeling about this sunburn thing.  And that evening, I noticed something. Earlier in the day I hadn’t worried at all about my face or neck being burnt because I’d been very careful to wear my brimmed hat the whole time and keep those parts of me in the shade, believing that as there was no snow underfoot (and forgetting about the reflection from the rocks) I would not be burned.  But my face and neck did feel surprisingly sunburnt.  My arms and legs?  Despite the 9 hours walking, much of which was in full sun exposure, there was not the faintest trace of sunburn.  Not even a bit of a line where the socks or T-shirt ended!

Some might call that a miracle.  I don’t really.  To me it was pretty awesome evidence that fear has everything to do with one’s physical ailments.  I don’t yet know what I’m not seeing with regard to why my face and neck were affected – but God always has more exciting instalments for me…