Lessons from hikes

Life is a hike.

A miserable, grueling, pain-inflicting hike.

This is the conclusion I drew yesterday after embarking on one of Hawaii’s most difficult hikes: the Crouching Lion.

Actually, come to find out, we went above and beyond the Crouching Lion hike. We missed a turn that would bring us back the happy safe way, and found ourselves wandering for six hours in a dark and dreary wilderness.

At least that’s what I thought for most of the second half. My legs were shaking. I was out of water. My skin was lobster-red. We had to balance narrow ridges, climb rock walls, and grab onto trees to stop gravity from pulling us straight down the mountain all at once. Sounds fun, yes? Only when one is in shape. And folks, this hike confirmed that I do not at present fit in this category.

It was during the most difficult parts of this journey that I had to remind myself now and then to look up from my muddy, cut-up, quivering feet. Doing so rewarded me every time with the most breathtaking views on Oahu’s North Shore: views that many who live here their whole lives will never witness. A lush, green, uninhabited valley stretched out below us, comfortably sheltered from the rest of the world by the watch of the towering tree-filled mountains around it. At other points I could see where the blue of the ocean turned dark before kissing a bright, cloud-free sky. I saw a mountain goat grazing on an opposite cliff. I saw moss-covered paths and stairways so perfect they looked like they’d been constructed by fairy-tale creatures. I discovered plant life that seemed to know it was too wonderful and strange to allow its seeds to spread past these mountainous ridges. These elements combined in my most grueling moments to assure me that there was still much to be appreciated; that beauty still existed; that God still loved me.

And so it is with life. When we least expect it, we are certain to be met with rocky ridges and wrong turns and, at times, unimaginable pain. Our weaknesses will slap us in the face. And it is in these moments that we need only look up. When we look beyond the pain, we find beauty. We find it in the people who love us, in the experiences we’re gaining, and in the promise of increased strength when it’s all over. We find beauty, most of all, in the constancy of a loving God.

I thought of all this on that punishing, merciless trail. And when Kendon and I emerged and slowly limped, hand in hand, back to the car, I had a flash-forward to the future of us doing this very thing together, on some distant day, when the long hike of our life begins to come to a close.