Wilderness

Tuesday - After lunch I fill up my water bottle and head towards a trail located a quarter of a mile or so beyond the boundaries of the camp. It is known as Derek Ba-Midbar or A Way in the Wilderness. I am going to walk this trail not because I want to but because I must.

This path and I have a history. It has become a part of my retreat experience. My previous experiences on this trail have tested my courage in unexpected ways. I can't help but wonder if round three will be more of the same. I am more than a little apprehensive as I prepare to be tested again.

I follow the paved road until I see a familiar cattle gate to my left. Stepping into the grass, I focus all of my attention on the placement of my feet. There are huge red ants everywhere! They look like the kind that would happily carry off your picnic lunch while you took a nap on the blanket. Their super highways criss-cross all over the sandy turf. I carefully step over their roads and steer clear of the holes in the ground where they congregate in large numbers.

A simple wooden signpost marks the path. It is called A Way in the Wilderness for a reason. There is something very primitive and wild about this area. The path is layed out like a large jagged loop with so many twists and turns that north-south-east-and-west no longer apply. Once you begin walking there are only two options: move forward or retreat backward.

I take a deep breath and begin the journey.

You wouldn't know it by looking at it but walking this path is labor intensive. The ground is predominantly sand which makes it difficult to get any traction. In places it reminds me of the sand at the beach...where the boardwalk ends...soft, dry and hot...the stuff that sends everyone scrambling for the cool water-packed sand near the ocean's edge. Ugh.

The small tufts of grass and native plants that dot the trail become my best friends. I find myself stepping from one tuft to the next to keep my feet from sinking into the soft earth. Walking too quickly just causes my feet to dig more deeply into the sand. Slow is definitely better.

After a while, I settle into a rhythm with my feet which enables me to take a better look at my surroundings. There are all kinds of animal tracks in the sand: turkey, lizard, deer, cow, and coyote. My nose warns me of the scat piles before I see them. Many of them are huge in size and seem to be a combination of a large community dumping ground and impossible to miss territory markers.

My mind is surprisingly blank. I do not feel the need to pray or ask questions or examine my life. My goal is to complete the path.

I spy a deer on an intersecting path. She spies me, as well, and freezes while I walk past. Her companions watch from a safer distance.

Much of the walk unfolds in the same way: A turn in the path leads me to an open meadow where the wind blows freely and the wildflowers brighten the view. Minutes later, I round a bend and find myself in a shady wooded area where the air is stagnant and mysterious sounds come from the tall brush bordering both sides of the path. My heart pounds in response to the sound of large animals crashing through the woods. I am glad to hear them moving in the opposite direction.

About 45 minutes into my walk, I stop and sit down on a bench. The combination of walking and increased adrenaline flow has taken its toll. I am tired. In submission, I ask the question I don't really want to ask,

Should I wait here, God? Is there something You want to ask me or show me?

"Just sit until you catch your breath."

With those words He releases me. There is no need to stay. There is no need to have another face-to-face encounter with a javelina. No need to walk a path while the watchful eyes of a wild animal stare at you from the brush. No need to stare down another overprotective cow and her calf. No need to answer questions that pierce my soul. (All experiences from my last two adventures.) No more tests. Not this time.

There are still fifteen minutes or so of walking ahead of me. I leave the bench and continue along the path with renewed purpose. I am amazed that the mosquitoes haven't found me. The gnats that keep landing on my arms are annoying but harmless.

I turn a corner and stop at the sight of a very large, black cow on the path. I am still quite a distance from him. He doesn't know I am there because he is busy gnawing his side. I wait for him to register my presence all the while thinking the cows here are a lot taller and beefier than the Missouri dairy cows I saw as a youngster. There is something intimidating about being on the same side of the fence as him. When he does look up and realize he is not alone, his eyes widen and his nostrils flare in alarm. Luckily, he turns around and bolts from my presence.

I hope he tells his friends to stay away.

I round the last bend and find myself back at the cattle gate. After locking it behind me, I take one last glance at the path. I am relieved beyond belief. My time in the wilderness is complete.

"See, I am doing a new thing!
Now it springs up; do you not perceive it?
I am making a way in the desert
and streams in the wasteland." -- Isaiah 43:19