Salu! It has been a
looooonnnngggg time since I composed a blog post. In my defense, life
has been a blur the past few months. Weddings, graduations, reunions
(we were only in charge of 3 this year), camping adventures . . . and
unfortunately, funerals, have occupied our time. In short, we have
not been bored. I’m sure most of you could say the same.
In
recent days, I have mourned the loss of a dear friend who faced her
Goliath of a health challenge (Lou Gerhrig’s Disease) with courage
and grace. She will be missed greatly by anyone who knew her. And
though our hearts are aching, we are grateful she is no longer
suffering. And we know that someday, we’ll see Deb again.
I
was appreciative that shortly after her passing, I was able to spend
time in the nearby mountains with family members who helped me absorb
the pain in my heart. And on one of our adventures, I was taught an
important lesson that has helped me regain perspective. I’m hoping
to share this now for any who might also need a small boost along
life’s journey.
Each
year our family spends time together in the mountains, enjoying each
other’s company and feeling the healing peace that is there. We
usually spend some time looking for fossils. This has become a
fascinating family hobby that we enjoy together. This year we decided
to hike back into the famed trilobite bed that lies up a local
canyon. We have made this journey before and though it is a long, hot
hike in and out, we’ve always found trilobite treasures that take
the sting out of the ordeal.
This
year, we decided instead of walking in on the fairly easy path that
lies out in the hot sun, we would take the other trail that descends
through a forested mountain, thinking the shade would be an easier
way to go.
My
husband and I rode in on our trusty RZR to where the trail begins
down the mountainside. As we waited for the others who were walking
in the entire way, we did some explorations. My husband selected a
path on the right side, and I chose one on the left, trying to figure
out which one would be better for our grandchildren to use. I hiked
in several yards, then came back to where the RZR was parked to wait
for everyone else. Just a few short minutes later, the rest of our
group showed up, with one exception. Our son had decided to take his
three-year-old in on the lower, hot and dusty trail, figuring it
would be easier for her.
My
husband still hadn’t returned to the RZR. What I didn’t know at
that time was that he had already descended down to the fossil bed
and was waiting for everyone else to arrive. So as the rest of our
bunch decided to head down, I waited by the RZR for Kennon. A few
minutes later, I was very glad that I was there. My five-year-old
granddaughter softly called to me, “Grandma, I need your help.”
I
looked up and saw that my granddaughter was on her way to where I
was, looking quite distraught. “Oh, Grandma, I couldn’t keep up.”
Nearly in tears, she was in need of comfort and encouragement. I
assured her that all would be well and that I would help her make
that difficult journey. This granddaughter takes after me somewhat in
the height challenged department and is not very tall. Her short legs
couldn’t keep up with the older kids who had hurried down the
trail. The adults in the lead hadn’t caught on that this young lady
was missing yet, but I knew they would eventually. So, hand in hand,
my tiny granddaughter and I began what proved to be an arduous climb
down that mountain.
I
could quickly see why my granddaughter had panicked. There was a lot
of tree-fall all along that trail. At one point we ran into 4 large
trees that had fallen on top of each other. We had no choice but to
walk down to where the tip of the trees lay on the ground, a place
where we could finally straddle the trees and climb over. I was able
to lift my granddaughter up and over that set of trees, and each
succeeding log or tree that blocked our path. Together we faced
spider webs (we both hate spiders), ants, and places where the trail
seemed to disappear as we carefully made our way down that steep
mountain. When we began to see that we were nearing the ravine where
the fossil bed lies, we began hollering, hoping someone would hear
us. We knew that by now they were aware that two of us were missing
and we wanted to let them know that we were ok. Winded, scratched,
and bruised in places, but fine nevertheless.
Eventually,
my husband heard us. He had come back up to search for us, figuring
we were somewhere along the path. When I assured him that we were ok,
but taking our time on the trail, he went to share the news with
everyone else that all was well.
Not
long after that, we emerged above the fossil bed, and made our way to
where everyone else was waiting. It was a joyful reunion as most had
been concerned about the missing five-year-old, and her diabetic
grandmother. We had survived that journey together, realizing that we
had needed each other to make it through.
And
that is the lesson I learned that day. We were never meant to make
life’s often difficult journey alone. We are blessed with family
members and friends who can help us along when the path ahead seems
daunting. We will all face challenges that will stretch us beyond
what we think we can endure—having others at our side helps us to
survive and make it through.
Myself,
I tend to be the eternal two-year-old: “Do it myself!” seems to
be my theme. But I am learning that there are times when it’s too
difficult to do things alone. How grateful I am for those who
willingly wade in after me . . . and for the times when I am given
the opportunity to do so for others. And to me, that’s what life is
all about.
