Going to Africa

Writing has not come very naturally to me, as of late. I start and stop, start and stop, simply because my mind will not let me rest on one thought alone for any length of time. That seems to be the theme of most people who presently find themselves in the same situations as I am: hunting for apartments, finishing their taxes, completing projects, writing cases, preparing for graduation, getting ready for grad school, trying to maintain relationships, bracing for change. Most of the time I can barely get halfway into one thing before I am working on the next - and that is not necessarily a good thing.

So here is where this past weekend comes in. I decided, for once, to set aside my "all work and then play" way of going through life to take a much needed journey over Easter break. For two days, Cliff, our great new friend Jonathan, and I went backpacking in the Big Frog Wilderness of Cherokee National Forest in eastern Tennessee. All geared up and ready to go, but not without the warnings of anyone who had recently heard of the previous day's bear attack in a nearby mountain range, we made our way along a five and a half mile trail up two thousand feet to the four thousand, two hundred, and twenty-four foot summit of Big Frog Mountain. The ascent took us about three hours, and we made it to the summit with plenty of time to set up camp, refill our water in a nearby spring, spend some time reading, make dinner, and catch the sunset over the western ranges - none as large as Big Frog, though. In fact, there is no higher point west of Big Frog Mountain until the Big Bend in Texas or the Black Hills of South Dakota.

We laughed a lot and worried very little, except of course at night - well, atleast I did. I have discovered I have very little luck with sleeping on mountains, considering I, both of the two times I have ever backpacked overnight, have awoken to the sound of coyotes howling not too far off. That is a scary moment for me, and I know from experience. I literally have to fight my ears and my racing heart to make it back to sleep, only to wake, again and again and again to things that sound like the night - like the darkness - like the wilderness. I have decided, next time, I am bringing earplugs.

The way back, the next day, was largely a gradual downhill trip that took almost an hour less than our trip up. Needless to say, my easily winded and slightly ashmatic self had a more difficult time on the first day than the second. Whereas on Saturday I was bounding down the mountainside, welcoming the sight of switchbacks, Friday was a different story. I would work myself into a spell of pounding heart and failing lung and dread the thought of taking one step more. I could not get the pace of my feet and my breathing to match, and my feet were winning, getting ahead of what my body was capable of doing. I could go fast for a stretch but would then have to stop and rest, catch my breath, and start at it again. Finally, at Cliff's suggestion, I started to take it slower, which was slightly embarassing, because the pace at which I found myself not overwhelmed was rather slow. Jonathan was lengths ahead of us and here I was, slowly walking up the mountainside.

And I learned something valuable that first day and night, something that only God can speak on a trip like that when your mind is quieted and focused only on the next step and the beauty that surrounds the life existing there - or when your heart is racing and fearful of everything you cannot see but can only hear.

A big piece of my heart - the one that makes each day a beautiful challenge and a surprising joy - is going to Africa in June for five months and I have been scared, not for him, but for us... and discouraged, not for us, but for me. Scared because I am afraid of what life will look like without him by my side daily and discouraged because everyone else around us seems to be making that commitment for life. I want that and I want it now - but God wants that in His timing and it does not match what I see going on around me and that is humbling and frightening. I am watching people who have dated for months getting married and meanwhile, the enemy is whispering horribly terrible lies in my ear. You'll never have that. You might as well give up now. Is it truly worth waiting for? Just stop here.

And that is where the earplugs and the pacing will come in handy, if not in the mountains of Tennessee, then in the mountains of my own life and love and learning.