Here we are already, Labor Day. For us, school began last week. For many others, school begins tomorrow. It is the un-official "official" end of summer! As I look back on what feels like the fastest summer thus far, and try to figure out where the time disappeared to, I can't help but think about the two biggest happenings of our summer - those events we gave not only our time to, but our emotional and physical energy. Here's to the best and the worst of Summer 2017.
The highlight of my summer was being able to take a trip in early June with my husband to spend a week visiting friends in Alaska! The trip was certainly the biggest and most exciting thing we did this summer (or any of our summers, for that matter)!
And the activity highlight of the trip for me was the hike we made our last day in Denali National Park. We had done the whale watching earlier; we had done the camping in Denali the last few nights; we had done the long bus ride as far as we could go into the park, and had even seen a bear, a wolf and a lot of moose. But that last day we pushed the limits of a great trip, by pushing our physical limits, with a BIG hike.
We began at the "end" of the trail. We would begin at the end, and work our way back to where we had been staying, to the familiar, moderate ground. We knew instantly this would not be easy to do. The Savage River Alpine Trail stretched out over 4 miles, and during that distance increased 1200 feet in elevation. It was one of the most exhilarating climbs of my life! Physically, mentally, spiritually. It was incredible - incredibly difficult and incredibly empowering, incredibly holy and incredibly eye-opening (and did I mention, incredibly difficult?). In the end, that hike proved the most memorable moment of the trip for me!
But, unfortunately, not the most memorable of the summer.
We made that journey just weeks before we made the next incredibly difficult journey of our summer - the loss of our baby to miscarriage.
And as I look back at both, I see remarkable similarities:
Both journeys started out the same - rocky and straight up! A LONG way up! Hard. Harsh terrain. Barren and rocky. Every step seems more challenging than the ones you just made as you claimed they were the most challenging you'd ever done. Pain and fatigue seeped slowly but surely through your body and your pounding heart. If you look back at the solid ground where you were before, panic and fear would take hold. At times all you could do was push yourself to just keep going, even (especially) when you just wanted to collapse; every time you'd let yourself stop to catch your breath, you were certain you could not go on. Certain you would never make it. Questioning whether you should have taken the steps that got you on this journey in the first place, and sure you would never want to do it again. Straight uphill on unfriendly terrain. The journey starts out shakingly difficult, unbearably painful.
. . .
Then strangely, the terrain starts to change a bit. You have reached a peak. The steps start to even out a little, though there are still so many to go. You know you are nowhere near done yet. But you can start to look back now without fear of falling. The challenge, the pain, are still very fresh in your memory, in your cells. But you can now start to see another path. You are grateful for the people who have made this journey before, who trod this way and set this path where you now walk. From where you are, not only do you have a view of the challenging "what you've been through," you can now start to see out "beyond." Back, here, forward - all directions, all of it. You are able to see a bigger picture. You recognize how much wilderness you still have to get through, but now that you can see it all together, can you recognize how much goodness is also there. There are little buds of color coming into view, layers of depth to the view, and a whole lot of GOD. It is a strange mix of challenge-still and gloriousness. And either way, you've made it this far. You are quietly proud of yourself, as you push yourself to keep going.
. . .
And then you start making your way back down. It goes much quicker, but it's still not "easy." Once again, the terrain starts to take on another look; this time you start to see life. A lot of green, lush, thick life. Slowly, but surely, with each twist on the path and each decent towards the place you want to be, life continues to pop up. There are still challenges - mud, rivers to cross, slippery slopes (those deceptively quick steps down that catch you off guard), tree branches to avoid and other obstacles to overcome. But it feels more possible. The pain is either subsiding or becoming such a part of you that you don't notice it as much. And before you know it (seriously, didn't it seem like time moved in slow motion as we climbed, how did it speed up so suddenly?!), you're back to "normal" again. Back to the kind of terrain where you started, where you were before this journey took you straight up.
Except that after a journey like this - and the way your body, your heart, your mind, your Spirit all put themselves into it in ways you didn't know would be necessary, ways you didn't know you were even capable of - after a journey like that, where you started is not the same anymore.
Being back to "normal" is a new normal. It may be the "beginning" of the trail, but it is a totally different place than where you started.
For you are now changed. You will never look at the world the same again.
. . .
And although you have completed the trail, you know that you are still not done. The most challenging, most ingrained in your memory, part of the journey may be over, but you will still have to continue walking. All paths lead to another. You will take many, many more steps. Some will be straight uphill, others will be among green life. Most will be spent somewhere in between. And in Denali, as in life, those paths cross each other and morph into each other with little warning at times. You did not walk a straight, linear path; your workout is more complex than the time spent between the "beginning" and the "end" signs. You made it through the exhilarating part of the journey, with all its terrain and challenges and blessings and insights. But there are still new paths that you will continue to journey, and memories of that trail will continue to penetrate your mind and heart, until you are finally home.
It's not a once in a lifetime experience.
It's an experience that opens you up for a lifetime.
That is how the journey is - with Alpine trails, and Grief.
