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| Rocks like this proved challenging on the Long Trail. Author Photo |
I found myself at a crossroad. Or rather, at a cross-trail, as
I was hiking the Long Trail of Vermont this past September. I’d already come
well over half the journey. The day was rainy and windy. And I was stopped by
two huge ledges of rock, about eighteen inches apart. In order to continue the
hike, I had to cross one then the other. Narrow bands of rock, that if I slip,
I could see down a crevasse many feet below.
Wow the fear. Not a pleasant prospect. Yes, the rocks and
the weather were bad, but the crippling fear was worse. What to do? Where to
go? I had already been through so much. Tough stuff. Even Mt Mansfield, the
highest point in Vermont. If I turned around now, the hike was doomed. And all
my past effort wasted.
Then I heard it. A still, small voice. Authoritative but
kind.
"Sit down on the rock there.”
I did.
“Scoot yourself slowly across it.”
Hard to do, but I did, with a drenched backpack on my back. I
scooted across the narrow ledges of rock until I made it to a place where I could
haul myself up and continue on the trail.
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| Author photo |
That voice was there in the scariest of places. Telling me
what to do. Directing my path. It was a voice, not a light per say, but it
acted like a light. Shining comfort when it was darkest. Illuminating a place
that I could not see, but when I obeyed, I saw very clearly.
Perhaps you are in places like this. You need direction. It’s
looking really scary.
Listen to the still, small voice. He will tell you where to
go and what to do. And you’ll come forth like the sun, with more courage under your
belt and ears ripe to listen for any further directions along the path of life.
