I’ve been traveling to New Mexico to backpack in the Santa Fe National Forest since I was a teenager. My dad is the one who first took me, and with each trip I have discovered that these events have a rhythm all their own. There’s a restaurant we always eat at, there’s a store we always stop at and then, inevitably, there are stories we always hear and tell. Every time I lace up my boots and tread the well-worn paths, as sure as the thin mountain air in my lungs, there are a few catchphrases I know I’m about to hear.
As you beat on, mile after mile, hour after hour, conversation becomes a kind of group entertainment. People tell stories about past trips – favorite moments (and ones they wish they could forget), where you’ll find the best nap spots along the trail, what this person did here, what this person said there, close calls, dream routes and on and on. If it’s my dad talking, he’ll be sure to tell about the look I gave him on my first trip as he hoisted and placed a pack on my back. (It was a look that said, “Oh, it’s really hilarious that you ACTUALLY think there’s a POSSIBILITY I’m going to carry this thing for the next five days…UP A MOUNTAIN. HILARIOUS.” In my defense though, the pack was heavy, I was a bit of a wimp and I’d never been camping before…ever.) And on and on the stories roll. There are two exchanges though, that are always my favorite.
The first is from our friend, Jack, who inevitably will ask as we set out for a day’s hike, “Are we on schedule?” To which someone else must ask, “What schedule?” Which with a smile Jack will answer, “My point exactly.” And he’s right – the only thing on each day’s to do list is getting from Point A to Point B – and even that is often negotiable. This leads us to my other favorite catchphrase, something that I actually think I’ve only heard once – a quick comment my dad said to me on a trip years ago as we were breaking camp and facing a new day’s walk. He told me that one of the things he loved most about these days and these trips was that all we had to do, for the entire day, was walk. There weren’t two dozen things to be done or places to get to, there wasn’t huge pressure to perform well, there were no 5-step plans for being better that day. No, the goal was simple and light: walk.
What I’ve realized lately, miles from the mountains, is that lately, life has been a practice of one foot in front of the other. Walking is about all I can handle. And it’s not until recently that I recognized that I wasn’t by myself in this. I looked up the other day to notice God’s steady, quiet tread next to mine. He’s been there all along of course, but for the past few months, I just hadn’t noticed Him. You see, life on the outside lately – work, friends, conversations, places I go, things I do – everything feels muted and just slightly out of focus. And yet, everything on the inside feels tilted at max volume. Life is somehow hazy and heightened at the same time and the confusing mix has left me with one simple task: put one foot in front of the other. Then, repeat.
David talks in Psalm 24 about how even when he walks in the darkest of dark valleys, God is with him. In Psalm 139, he grapples with the incredible feat of God’s presence: When he sleeps, if he were to go to the bottom of the sea or the end of the earth – God would be there every time, all the time. That’s what I’ve looked up to find.
Life right now is not a new trail of unseen adventure and that’s fine, because that’s not what right now is for. Now is for walking, step by step. Now is for getting up each day and remembering the gracious gift that a new day is, for celebrating God’s faithfulness amidst stomach-dropping twists, for repeating the promise of His presence every moment it’s needed. I want you to know, friend, if you too have looked up and found that you’re somewhere you didn’t expect, if things feel blurred or like they’re moving in slow motion, I want you to know that it’s okay. These days when there isn’t a whole lot of doing except the doing of moving, of one foot in front of another, these days are totally acceptable, even more, they’re probably exactly what needs to be happening. Stop feeling like you should be doing more. This right there – this getting up and moving, the feat of continuing to walk – might be all you’ve been tasked to handle. In these moments of heaviness, let’s allow ourselves to carry the light burden of this truth: today, my friends, all we have to do is walk.
