The Path not Taken

I have been pondering muchly and writing little in the last few weeks. For those of you that actually care to read this, apologies. There's been a lot on my plate and I've never been very good at spending time in reflection. Something I'm hoping to correct as I continue on the path I'm being led down.

Which brings me to today's post. Paths. And how much I love them. And how incredibly difficult they can be to navigate.

I blame it on my family really. If it hadn't been for annual trips to Mt. Rainier to wander the endlessly beautiful trails around the Tipsu lakes, and the "Only another mile" hikes that turned into six and nearly killed my grandmother (Deanna) I don't think I ever would have figured out that I love hiking. Hiking here meaning wandering through pretty wooded areas that have fairly easy trails and few things to climb over in street clothes and shoes that I wear pretty much everyday. Tri-Cities, as many of you know, has few such places to hike, although there are some supremely pretty river trails that can't even be beat by the grandeur of Rainier (Sorry Westside). All that to say that I love hiking, and I find God in nature better than man-made environments.

So when our Spiritual Practices final/silent retreat was spent wandering around St. Edward's State park, I was overjoyed. There was a trail down to Lake Washington which was supposedly pretty close, and since water and trees are two of my favorite ways to think about God and where I feel closest to him, I headed for the lake.

Keep in mind that I grew up hiking in state parks, so I know how to read trail maps (which are pretty much idiot proof anyway (Deanna)) and I can make pretty good sense of direction, even on trails that turn a lot. I figured out how to get down to a trail (we started off at Bastyr University so not actually in the state park) and wandered until I found something that headed in the general direction of Lake Washington. The path had one of those horse coral style fence things that kept bikes off the trail (for good reason I found out) and one of those posts with signs on it that had a picture of a hiker with a walking stick (yet another sign that this trail was for hikers rather than bikes) and a jaggedy line with the words "Most difficult" underneath.

You'd think at this point I would have wandered a little farther and seen if there was another way down to the lake, but my eternal wisdom and years spent hiking mild to moderate trails on Rainier told me "Most difficult" was probably nothing to worry about. Besides, I really wanted to see the lake. I felt weirdly called there. Although it may have been the sleep deprivation mixed with caffeine (a decision I came to regret very quickly) leading me there, I knew it was important for me to get to the lake. So I started walking down the "most difficult" path, eager for my destination. Story of my life.

I passed a bench fairly early on in the hike. I thought about sitting and writing some of my initial thoughts about the silence I was encompassed in and what it meant to just be in God's presence, but as I neared the bench my God voice asked, "Do you want to stop yet?" Come to find out this would be a much bigger question than one of physical rest. I slowed, but kept going. "No I can go a little farther." "You don't know when you're going to get to stop again. Are you sure?" A moments hesitation. "Yea, let's keep going." So we continued. Mostly because as often as God helps me to understand things about himself, we don't spend prolonged amounts of time together much, and I was unlikely to get space for that kind of thing again.

The path was fine for about the first half of it. I passed some people in athletic clothes, a few people with dogs and then a group of older hikers with legit hiking backpacks and walking sticks all coming up the increasingly steep slopes. If the point of the exercise (literal and figurative) hadn't been to remain silent with God I probably would have cursed. I started to wonder just how far it was to the lake when I hit a narrower bit of trail that was raised above the surrounding scenery about five feet. Everything was covered in moss and the diffused cloud filtered light was lighting everything up in that perfect camera shot kind of way. I wondered to myself if I would be content if this was the best scenery I would get. If we never made it to the lake, would I be okay with having seen this. "Keep going." My God voice said, "Trust me and we'll get there."

As the path got steeper and I passed a marker that said 1 MI on it, I realized that this path may indeed have been harder than I initially assumed. The people with athletic clothes had made me realize how terribly inadequately I had prepared for this "walk through the woods" and my heavy messenger bag and lack of water weren't helping the idea at all. The slipperiness of the trail wasn't helping much either. Not that it was that bad, just made my calves a little tired from all the leaning I was doing to avoid falling over or slipping down the trail. It was the thought of having to figure out how to hike back up that was terrifying.

Finally through the trees I could make out the cloudish fog that meant open space and the expanse of Lake Washington. I was so close. Then I rounded a switchback so close to the lake I could actually see the water and ate it. Not bad enough to hurt, but I was muddy and my shoulder wasn't happy when I got up. At least no one saw it. I dusted off my brand new jeans (great) and the over priced messenger bag I got in Harry Potter Land, and headed off again. I ran into another trail that headed back up almost the way I'd come that was labeled "more difficult" and decided to leave off the existential decision of which path to take on the way back up until after I'd reflected on the time I'd spent with God on the way down. I found some rocks that stuck out a little ways into the lake, put my jacket down so that I wouldn't get too cold to focus, and started writing about my journey. I wondered how much time I could sit here before I had to make the hard climb back to the school, which path I should take, if I would have time to waste getting lost in the woods without ever stepping off a trail.

Then my God voice spoke again "It's not a waste of time."
"But what if I don't make it back?"
"Listen."
Birdsong, the water lapping on the sandy beach, human stillness.
"I make those birds fly and sing and made water so amazing and things that could swim in air. And you're worried about being back in time for lunch?"
I could almost see the skepticism.
"I made you." My God voice continued. "I'll see you through this. All of it."

This conversation, if you haven't already guessed, was not about hiking. Or making it back for lunch. Or being afraid of killing myself on the way back up to the school. Three times in the last two weeks since discovering the call I didn't even want, I have been faced with an impossible question. Is this what you really want? Do you really want to follow God's plan for your life when it's so different than what you though it would be? They've all come in different ways and from different people, but it always leads to the same train of thought: This isn't where I though we were going.This path doesn't look right. There are so many other ways I could go, God, why does it have to be this one?

So I told Him, "There's a lot to get through. And even though I know you know best, I still don't' know that I'm ready to give it all up. I'm only 22. Surely there are more competent, ready people you can call."
"We've had this discussion already."
"I know."
"What was my answer then?"
"Aren't I supposed to be the one asking the questions?
"..."
I sighed frustrated that God didn't take the bait of my humor like most people do. "You didn't call them, you called me. These gifts and loves and prophesies are for your people. Nothing will change if I don't answer this call."
"And it's still true."
"God, that's too much. I can't carry all that. I don't want taht much power and authority."
"You're not that one carrying it. And you need not fear power or authority. Not when it comes from me."
"What if I can't let go?"
"Cling to me, not the burden. I have arms big enough for it all."


I left the lake in a weird state of worry and wonder. Then I got to the fork in the trails. More or Most? Unknown or impossible? I asked myself hoping that my caffeine addled legs that had already dropped me once would hold out until I got to the top of the hill and sustenance. I stared at the trails for a while, wishing this was just a hike and not a sadly relevant metaphor for my life, call, and faith. I had no idea which one to take, except that I felt weirdly drawn to the path I hadn't taken. Suddenly emboldened by the thought of my favorite poem "The Road Not Taken" I took the "More difficult" path. Which, ironically, was way harder than the path down to the lake had been, since it was pretty much all up hill.

I walked by a little creek which ended at the lake, and I was now following to it's source (oh good, more metaphor) and for a while half whistled several relevant songs as I worshiped arms half raised. I've been praying that way recently, with my palms up. Not sure why, it started after Exploration. I sang silently for a while, but as the music faded I heard my God voice ask "Isn't that heavy?" I realized that the way I was holding my arms, even with open hands, was still like holding something heavy, so after a moments hesitation, I let my arms fall. And weirdly enough, everything felt a little lighter.

Most of the rest of the morning's conversation was my God voice urging me to rest when I needed to, that we weren't in a big hurry and that He would lead me back. Eventually I made it back to what I thought was the right building (lies) and still have about half an hour until I was supposed to be back. I checked the trail map and saw something labeled "The Grotto" which brought to mind pictures of deep forest paths and the Little Mermaid. So I walked on, assuming I was close enough to the school that I had plenty of time to explore and make it back before lunch.

The Grotto was very close, although I had to check two more trail maps (apparently they were all on this end of the park) to make sure I was going the right way. What I found was a small stone houseish looking structure that was built like a alter with a path leading up to it that can only be described as Zeldaish. The houseish thing has what actually looked like a real alter inside it, so I hopped up on it to do some more writing. It's officially my new favorite place and probably the real reason I went down to the lake.

The rest of the retreat wasn't nearly as meaningful as the first, so I won't bore you with it. Suffice it to say, I went on several kinds of journeys, and ended up pretty much where I started (with a few detours and many confusing moments). Yup, metaphor, it's apparently what I do with my life. (I never should have majored in English) Go figure.

I still question my apparent call. I still wonder if it wouldn't be better to bail on grad school now and take what's left of my funds on some kind of crazy film/theater adventure. I still feel totally guilty even saying that because I really big piece of my assumes that I should have this all figured out by now. I still have no idea if head pastorship/Elder (the head pastor kind of ordination in the UM church) will actually make me happy. I'm still not sure that's even the question I should be asking. I still wonder what my life would be like if I had chosen the path not taken. I still wonder if I'll be okay with not taking it, even if the one I'm on is the less traveled one.

Sorry this post was so long and occasionally poetic. It's been that kind of month. Love.