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“Ugh!” I thought to myself as I stepped off what seemed to be the twenty-thousandth step down what seemed to be the thousandth switchback we’d covered that day.
“I’m pretty sure my knees are literally going to break,” I commented to my friend. Both of us had been bringing up the back of the pack for a few hours at this point, but managed to keep fairly light-hearted and happy moods most of the time.
That morning around 4:30, we had loaded up our packs and headed for the Canyon, most of us thinking it was probably going to be no big deal hauling 35+ pounds down 8 miles of rocky terrain on our backs. We were wrong. Or, at least, I was.
By about an hour into our hike, I started keeping track of how many times I’d lost my footing and almost fell. It was over ten. Definitely over ten.
Those of you who know me know I’ve been a twig most of my life. I am not strong. I could lift weights for three hours a day and still probably have stick arms. By lunchtime, my shoulders were screaming, but for some odd reason, I was loving this.
My phone wasn’t ringing.
No one was emailing me.
No one was rolling their eyes at me.
No one was asking me for something, except for maybe a Nuun tablet or some jerky.
I wasn’t checking Twitter to make sure my kids were okay. (And when I say “my kids,” I mean my students).
We stopped for lunch and a park ranger about my age skipped (yes, skipped) by us, cheerfully asking us with her head cocked to the side, “Hey guys, you going to the bottom?!”
Us: “……yes.”
Her: “Awesome! See ya there!”
Us: “……maybe.”
We got into camp that night around dinnertime. I ate and went to bed, waking up at 3 am because I fell asleep at, like, 6:30 the night before.
I took the opportunity to lay there in silence, thinking, “Man, I actually don’t feel that bad.”
Three hours later though, when I actually had to be upright, I pulled myself out of my tent and my legs pretty much refused to work.
“You look like a robot,” my friend said, laughing as I hobbled to the picnic table for instant coffee and a Clif bar (which I would soon come to hate with a fiery passion – turns out if you eat six in two days, you get a pretty terrible stomachache).
The second day was easier. As we walked, my legs warmed up and I was able to enjoy the scenery and take more pictures.
I think it was sometime that day when I was sitting at camp with literally nothing to do, or maybe that night as we hiked out to Plateau Point, that I was quiet enough for God to speak to my heart. The morning before as I packed my backpack, I was really worried because the new Bible Andrew had gotten me wouldn’t fit. Like, literally, there was no room for it without ruining it. I left it, knowing that God was obviously big enough to speak to me if I had to leave it behind.
Ever since getting sick last summer, I’ve struggled massively with feeling depressed, restless, anxious, and everything in-between. There were weeks throughout the school year I felt like I was literally going to be crushed by the weight of things I couldn’t quite totally identify. Maybe the weight of things happening to my students that were out of my control. The weight of owning the fact that some of my kids were failing and I felt like it was my fault. The weight of constantly searching for lessons that would be the best of the best, and feeling crushed when my students hated them and I’d spent hours planning. The weight of the fact that I cannot control my future, nor do I have any idea what it holds.
The weight of taking on too much, of not setting healthy boundaries in my life.
Something happened to me while I was hiking this huge canyon. I didn’t have too much time to just sit and pray or sit and listen, except for the one afternoon when we got to camp around 2:00. But I had a lot of time to think as I tried not to fall on my butt for the zillionth time.
And something that occurred to me as I was walking was this: if I continue to own things that I have no control over, I will be unable to do what God has called me to do. In my husband’s words, my job would kill me.
The only thing I had control over during the three days we walked through the canyon was putting one foot in front of the other, even when I wanted to quit. And my attitude towards those around me.
And I think that’s all God has called me to. To love the people around me, and to continue walking after him. To stop owning the mistakes of others, but to confess when I am wrong. To stop taking responsibility and ownership of the tasks others have “failed” to do. To love my students, even when they hate me. To love them in a hard way by not allowing them to slack off, because they’ll need it later, and to not take it personally when they roll their eyes and walk away.
With each step in the canyon, even though my legs were screaming at me by day three, my anxiety released. I felt better than I have in years. I felt God begin prying my fingers from things I could not control but had been holding onto with shaking hands and white knuckles for years.
Don’t get me wrong. I still struggle greatly every day with not owning what isn’t mine, with over-responsibility. Each of us has a battle. Over-responsibility – that’s mine.
The day we came out of the canyon I got a notification that something had happened with one of my classes where many students hadn’t done what I asked of them. Immediately, I felt anxiety closing its fingers around my throat, whispering, “Man, you must be a terrible teacher for them to fail at doing this.” And for the first time, I was able to say, “No. This isn’t my fault,” and move on.
We were made to have days in the wilderness. We weren’t made to stare at screens and envy the lives of others and check our email every five seconds.
I’m going back to the Canyon next spring. This trip has, in a sense, saved my life and my sanity. And given me a very unrealistic desire to become a park ranger.
I cannot tell you what making it back to the top felt like. Similar to crossing a marathon finish line, but different at the same time. I felt stronger, physically and emotionally. (When I finished my marathon, I didn’t really feel too much. Ha.).
I thought briefly about Moses coming down off Mt. Sinai (um, please don’t think I’m comparing myself to Moses, because I am definitely not a Moses). I thought about him and how his face glowed after spending time with the Lord.
My face wasn’t glowing (well, from anything except sweat), but I felt like God was walking right next to me. And it’s because, for once, I wasn’t distracted or worried about what someone was thinking. My spirit was renewed from time away. And it was life-changing.
If you’re reading this, you should come with me next time. You won’t regret it. Your legs might, but you won’t.
Oh, and you can buy a cool sticker that says “Rim2River.” That, good friends, and Jesus made it all worth it.
About to get smoked by a woman in her 70s. She rocked.