(Part 3 of a 5-blog series; click here for more: part 1, part 2, part 4, part 5)
Out walking & running again this morn, and was inexorably drawn off the main road, towards the trail that our family takes from the back of our property. Only problem was, the prompting came when I was already out at the far end of the journey: the peak up ahead, Rampart Range Rd under my feet, ‘the bald’ overlooking Woodland Park to my right. I wasn’t really sure where that path was, or how to connect with it, from my current position. To top it off, time was running short, and baby Nekoda was home with the older kids, due to nurse in another 15 or 20 minutes.
Enter fear. But never-the-less, there was the incessant prompting to get off the easy road, fight my apprehension, and find the trail. So I prayed, looked both ways, and ducked under the fence.
The view up there is glorious. The best. Deep blue sky; that rare, azure, clarified color you only find up here above 9000 feet. Wildflowers everywhere, washes of yellow & purple, with shocks of red sprinkled across the field. Tall, fragrant, deep-green Pines, and cheerful Aspens, shimmering & applauding in the breeze. Towering over it all, the majestic face of Pikes Peak, still streaked with valleys of snow.
I jogged quickly across the wheat-colored field, not sure where fence lines marked private property or national forest, and headed over the swell of land until the road behind me dropped from view. Yet I was disoriented. My heart raced, more than just from the brief exertion, as I continued toward a line of trees, slowly descending the hill that eventually falls sharply to the edge of Woodland Park. Where was the trail? Where was the opening between Aspens I remembered emerging from, on hikes with Kevin & the kids? Everything looked so different from this angle. I stopped for a moment & strained to look back towards the dirt road: maybe this was a bad idea, maybe I was in the wrong place altogether, maybe I should go back to the familiar, well-traveled street.
But I couldn’t shake the conviction that I was supposed to forge ahead & find my way. I mean, its not like I was lost. I was just...insecure. And frustrated with my insecurity. “Lord, help me! This is just silly, but I can’t find the path, and I don’t know where I’m supposed to turn into the woods...and I need to get home!”
And then – there it was. The silly, funny marker Kevin had left to show the way: an old sock, tied to a tree branch, stiff from months of weathering in the snow & rain & sunshine. I laughed aloud then, and cried a little, and raced off down the barely-marked but somewhat-familiar trail. All along the way were subtle signs of Kevin’s making: a tree branch here to mark an edge, a stone there to mark a turn.
Out walking & running again this morn, and was inexorably drawn off the main road, towards the trail that our family takes from the back of our property. Only problem was, the prompting came when I was already out at the far end of the journey: the peak up ahead, Rampart Range Rd under my feet, ‘the bald’ overlooking Woodland Park to my right. I wasn’t really sure where that path was, or how to connect with it, from my current position. To top it off, time was running short, and baby Nekoda was home with the older kids, due to nurse in another 15 or 20 minutes.
Enter fear. But never-the-less, there was the incessant prompting to get off the easy road, fight my apprehension, and find the trail. So I prayed, looked both ways, and ducked under the fence.
The view up there is glorious. The best. Deep blue sky; that rare, azure, clarified color you only find up here above 9000 feet. Wildflowers everywhere, washes of yellow & purple, with shocks of red sprinkled across the field. Tall, fragrant, deep-green Pines, and cheerful Aspens, shimmering & applauding in the breeze. Towering over it all, the majestic face of Pikes Peak, still streaked with valleys of snow.
I jogged quickly across the wheat-colored field, not sure where fence lines marked private property or national forest, and headed over the swell of land until the road behind me dropped from view. Yet I was disoriented. My heart raced, more than just from the brief exertion, as I continued toward a line of trees, slowly descending the hill that eventually falls sharply to the edge of Woodland Park. Where was the trail? Where was the opening between Aspens I remembered emerging from, on hikes with Kevin & the kids? Everything looked so different from this angle. I stopped for a moment & strained to look back towards the dirt road: maybe this was a bad idea, maybe I was in the wrong place altogether, maybe I should go back to the familiar, well-traveled street.
But I couldn’t shake the conviction that I was supposed to forge ahead & find my way. I mean, its not like I was lost. I was just...insecure. And frustrated with my insecurity. “Lord, help me! This is just silly, but I can’t find the path, and I don’t know where I’m supposed to turn into the woods...and I need to get home!”
And then – there it was. The silly, funny marker Kevin had left to show the way: an old sock, tied to a tree branch, stiff from months of weathering in the snow & rain & sunshine. I laughed aloud then, and cried a little, and raced off down the barely-marked but somewhat-familiar trail. All along the way were subtle signs of Kevin’s making: a tree branch here to mark an edge, a stone there to mark a turn.
Signs of Jesus’ tender love for me, thru my pioneering husband.
Markers that remind me of God’s call on my life,
to take the road-less-traveled with courage to overcome my fears;
and to trust, because
He has gone before me and marked the way with compassion & lovingkindness.
(Part 3 of a 5-blog series; click here for more: part 1, part 2, part 4, part 5)
