The End As Well As The Means

Our family recently went up north to a friends’ cabin on a snowmobiling trip. These were relatively new friends to us, and prior to that weekend, I had never ridden on a snowmobile, and honestly was going because it was something my husband was really looking forward to. Leading up to this day, I had always pictured gently gliding through serene, snow covered woods with my arms wrapped around my husband/windbreak, as he bravely navigated the trails on our behalf. After arriving at the cabin, my picture remained intact as the setting was beautiful, and our Saturday morning began with a beautiful hike in the sunshine. However, as afternoon approached, it was time to suit up and head out on our days’ snowmobiling excursion, and it was then that my expectations began to meet reality. For years, my husband has had trouble with his back, which goes out suddenly, with no obvious cause, and it had gone out the week prior to our trip. I hadn’t let myself really think about that, and allow its implications to trickle down to our trip, but sure enough, that morning he let me know that he his back could not tolerate the trip, and that I would have to go on without him.

So there I was, one of the guys, getting ready to head out. We cruised out of the gas station after tanking up, and lined up to cross the highway and hit the trail. A first among what would be many that day was my crossing a highway on a snowmobile. Because there was a dog sled race occurring that day as well, there was a crowd of onlookers, and a couple of county deputies directing traffic, and so all eyes were on me as I started across. What I can now say with a confident smile and swagger in my step is that snowmobiles do not steer on dry pavement, but I did not know this then, and so I was headed straight for the ditch with a no-doubt confused and bewildered expression on my face. I could kind of see people yelling at me through my breath-fogged helmet, but I couldn't hear a thing. After several futile attempts to steer back onto the trail, I managed to stop inches before the ditch, and then simply got off, and waited for someone to drive my sled over and through the ditch, and onto the trail before remounting, my head hung in shame, and speeding to the welcomed cover of the woods.

Had I any idea of what laid ahead of me that day, I would have taken another run at crossing the highway, found a pay phone, and begged to be picked up. But, instead, I crept along the trail, familiarizing myself with the instrument panel and the deafening roar of the engine beneath me, much to the exasperation of my three fellow drivers, all of them male, experienced and fond of neck-breaking speed. At our first pit stop, the lead driver actually checked to see if my emergency brake was on! While we warmed up and had a bit to eat and drink (bad idea for any woman wearing a snowsuit,) I was informed that we had gone 20 miles, which was a little less than 1/3 of the way, and that I was going to have to speed up if we were going to make it back before nightfall. After some simple math, with thoughts of 60+ miles swirling around in my head, I assimilated my reality as fully as possible, mounted my sled, and went careening down the trail at double my previous speed.

The sun set with about 15 miles to go, and by this time I was hard-core gunning for home, all romantic thoughts of a serene trip through the woods long ago replaced with a reckless abandon not befitting a devoted mother of three children awaiting her return. I had by now moved up to the position directly behind the driver, intent on keeping my helmet clear enough to see through, and not losing the speed demon in front of me, as he was my link to, first and foremost a bathroom, and then to warmth, shelter, and my family. With 5 miles to go, the lead driver and I stopped to wait for the others to catch up. My favorite moment of the trip was when we shut down the engines, and sat in total blessed silence in the clearing, looking up at the stars while waiting for the rest of our party. After 5-10 minutes, we realized that they were not coming, and that we would need to go back for them, and so the engines roared to life as we sped back onto the trail already covered. My heart sank at the disappointment of backtracking, and the realization that it could be a long night. I felt responsible for losing the sled behind me, and yet I knew that without the lead sled in sight, I would have been lost as well. We found the other two sleds several miles back, broken down and waiting for help. My experience in snowmobile maintenance and repair being predictably nonexistent, I decided to pray while heading back into the woods to find a “bathroom." Suffice it to say that a woman going to the bathroom in pitch black woods with 2 feet of snow cover in a waterproof snowsuit is an adventure in and of itself. By the time I returned to my party, they were hooking up the broken sled to a tow rope, and we were preparing to head out. Traveling at a reasonable speed for the first time in hours, we made our way out to the road, and the few short miles to our awaiting trailer and ride home.

I have mentioned my, thus far, 2 year long quest to have the man who sexually abused me removed from his ministry position. The process has been taxing, with many unexpected twists and turns, and each time I think the end is in sight, I turn the corner and see more miles stretched before me on what seems to be an unending trail. As one who has experienced sexual abuse, I know that, in the face of trauma or difficulty, my pattern is to hold my breath and gun it to the finish line, doing my best to protect myself from the reality of the journey. God seems to be using my snowmobile adventure to invite me to journey in a different way, and to suggest that careening to the finish line with tunnel vision locked on my goal causes me to miss experiences and lose people he has for me along the way. I have noticed that, regardless of what I’m driving, whether a bike, a car, or a snowmobile, if my gaze lingers too long on something besides the road, I begin to veer towards it, and so it seems best not to be waylaid by distraction along the trail. But I do think that we are invited to slow down a bit, and take a look around, occasionally checking our mirrors, so that we don’t miss out on God’s scenery, planned pit stops and messages along the way. Just as the most memorable moment of my trip was the sweet silence of the starlit night, as we waited to be “caught up with,” so is the sweetness of God’s invitation to stop and wait in stillness, allowing ourselves to be “caught up with” by, not only God himself, but those he sends to be with us along the journey, some for our comfort, and others for His purposes in their lives. As the trail stretches out before me, I pray that God will help me to be still, breathe deeply, and consider the journey to be the end as well as the means.

In the face of trauma, or difficulty, what is your pattern, and how do you see it playing out in your life? What would it look like for you to stop, and allow yourself to be “caught up with” by God? What pit stops and messages from God have you noticed along your journey lately and what of those you have missed, for which it might be worth heading back?