Testing the Trails

I hate waste, especially wasted time. 

But I was reminded today that what I see as waste is really a part of the journey, part of learning. And it's a part of my life that God redeems – even when the waste is wandering, wondering, or incapacitation by fear. God is not bound by time or space and is quite familiar with my humanity, my trepidation. Indeed, it is merely another tool that He uses to accomplish His plan for me. 

I am reminded of this when I consider my hike in the Bob Marshall wilderness. Coming into a clearing, I was presented with a junction of three trails where there was supposed to be none. Not again.  

The junction of the three "trails".

The day before, I had gotten lost by making abysmal, emotional decisions. That path had ended in a large area of "brushy". I tried to find the way by going into the brushy. For nearly an hour the foliage engulfed me. I was climbing over giant, downed trees, stumbling like a drunk. I nearly broke both legs falling into a drainage I didn't see. I was overcome by fear and frustration. Each step took me deeper into fear.  By the grace of God, the trail manifested. Truthfully, the entire event is shrouded by sweat, tears, and panic. I knew in my heart that encountering another trail identification issue was likely and that I could not respond in the same way. My life literally depended on using a different approach. 

Next day. Standing at the head of the three paths, I casually followed each of the trails, and each was a dead end. Ugh. Not again. Fear arose — fear that I was wasting my time; fear I'd take the wrong path; fear that I could be walking for days and run out of food; fear that I'd have to camp in the middle of nowhere (which, coincidentally was exactly what I was doing). But the most significant anxiety came from remembering my failure the day before. I was painfully aware of my predisposition to making rush gut decisions, glamming over reality rather than slowing down to make decisions based on logic and reason. Typically, I'm tough enough to "pay" for most of these decisions. But that was NOT an option in The Bob. I couldn't repeat yesterday's mistakes.

I embraced the facts of the situation. I knew that the trail behind me was indeed The Trail. And I knew that The Trail continued via one of the paths in front of me. I stood in the middle of the clearing for what felt like hours, going through all the stages of grief. Why me? Why can't OnX show where the trail is? Why can't the Forest Service put up a freakin arrow? This is so stupid, so unnecessary! What am I doing here?! After thinking about the situation and praying desperate prayers, I decided to again 'test the trails,' this time with careful attention to each step.

The first path was indeed a dead end, not 30 yards away from the junction. I looked around at the dead-end to make sure I didn't miss anything. I went into the woods just a bit to examine trees for Forest Service markings, horse manure, for any sign. Nothing. I retraced my steps back to the head of the three paths and took the middle path. Again, it was a dead-end in the same woods. I again went into the trees to see if I could find a path, constantly checking that I could still see the clearing where I came from.  This was definitely not the path. I returned to the three-path junction. Each time I returned, I was sure those paths were false.  

I started down the last path. I was afraid. This trail had to be the way, even though I didn't see it before. I kept my eyes open for human interactions on the land. Nothing. I kept moving along the faintest trail, praying my eyes weren't deceiving me. OnX was still telling me I was at least 50 yards from the trail. Screw that app. It's wrong. I put it back in my pack. "Is this the trail?" I WANT CERTAINTY!! 

In the woods, trails like the Smith-Little Salmon are well established, decades old. The trail before me was faint but certainly not accidental. That was a fact that brought more confidence with each step. How did I miss it before? Within minutes I saw the first sign — old horse manure. Another 50 paces revealed a Forest Service tree marking. Relief and joy overwhelmed me.

Each step led deeper into the unknown. 

Each step was a genuine act of courage. 

Each step had been a painful act of trust, a steady state of active self-denial. 

Each step was an expectation and need for God's protection.

It was a hard lesson, but it ended happily because I chose a different process than the previous day. 

Today I face similar decisions. And I'm ashamed that despite my experiences to the contrary, I still resist the work of 'trying the trails.' I want easy. I want certainty. And I know I am not alone in my struggle. It's easier to make choices based on emotion, desire, or control. Those things exist within me and are natural to follow. But in truth, they are corrupt, and I am blind to how corrupt they are. They cannot be trusted to lead the way.

So, I slow down. I consider the facts. I use my intellect, my experience, and then I pray and trust God to show me the path. 

Trust involves uncertainty, a reliance on forces outside myself. In trusting God, I acknowledge His ways are higher than mine, that He is good, all-powerful, and knows what is best for me. It is far from natural, familiar, or intrinsic. Yet, I choose to trust Him because intellect and reason demand I enlist the help of someone more intelligent than me.