fellowship in the mud

I visited a state park a few weeks ago with a group of friends. It was a wonderful weekend and a wonderful time just to kick back, enjoy company, and enjoy the nature that we so often miss in our busy lives. At one point in the trip, we had just come from one side of a deep dell, around which we climbed through small caves and climbed behind a small waterfall. We laughed at and wished the worst for each other as we found footing on narrow ledges, sometimes readying cameras for what seemed to be a friend’s imminent plunge into the pond around which we were climbing. After awhile we decided to hike on towards the opposite side of the dell to see what adventures might be in store for us there. The brush grew thicker, the dirt turned to mud, and we soon came upon a trickling stream. Some boys – actually, I think it was just my brother with his waterproof boots – moved a log so that we could use it to cross the stream, and my brother started haphazardly throwing large rocks in front of us, I later understood for us to walk on. Before long, we were in a quagmire. I don’t remember ever making a conscious decision to continue, or why we as a group just decided to go where it seemed no sensible person had gone before, but most of us did. We cautiously tested the soft ground before we took a step and tried to follow each other’s steps exactly. The boys went out ahead of us and tried to make things as easy as possible for the girls (even though we are beastly mountain women), often offering a hand or showing where to step. Sometimes they just weren’t sure though; I remember thinking that the path through the poison ivy was a better option than what they were doing, and I led us through with only one casualty due to a stinging nettle. Sure, people got hurt. One girl got elbowed in the face. Another girl got attacked by a plant left over from the curse of Adam. But, that can happen on even the most benign trail. The fact is, navigating our way through that muddy quagmire was one of my favorite parts of the trip. We willingly put ourselves in a challenging situation. It was muddy. It was wet. I sunk to my ankles in the mud a couple of times. I slipped off a rock and ended up standing in water once or twice too. But we were all in it together, helping each other out, trusting each other, and sympathizing with each other as our feet were consumed by the earth. And the great part is, we willingly put ourselves in that situation. We didn’t realize it would eventually get so muddy that we would have to turn back, but we knew it would be muddy, and we knew it would be more than a stroll. And what’s more, I probably laughed harder on that part of the trip than I did on any other.

I loved that camping trip. It made us like kids in that we wanted the biggest challenge. When I was little, I remember waiting for the day when I would be out of kindergarten and into the first grade, because that would mean I would no longer have to settle for the little climbing dome on the playground; I would graduate to the big dome. I looked forward to the big slides, the big teeter-totters, and the tires. Isn’t it funny? When we were little we would long for greater challenges. We wanted to sit atop the big dome, climb through the caverns of the tires, view the world from the highest rung of the latter on the slide. We wanted to get bigger, to be able to do more difficult things. I was so disappointed the first time I rode my bike across the block. The vanishing point of the sidewalk seemed like such a mysterious place; I imagined all sorts of adventures there. As the mysterious turned familiar, I remember, even at age six, feeling a loss. Challenge turned into the mundane. But as I grew up, I found myself choosing the mundane over the mysterious. I know some of you never lost your stomach for the most grueling option, but somewhere I started to settle for less. I would rather be with people just like me. I’ll drive the paved road instead of the gravel road. I’ll send an e-mail instead of making the phone call. I continue working instead of going to graduate school. As an adult, I am lacking something I had as a child: the desire and courage to go after the greater challenge and thus experience the greater adventure. And, with the God that I serve, I imagine I’m missing out on some pretty grand adventures and some pretty grand people with whom to experience those adventures.

Did we accomplish anything in our voyage through the mud? No, not really. Kristen got quite a bump on her head, and Rebekah got quite a stinging sensation in her hand, and we all got mud smeared up to our knees. But, it was fun. I laughed harder than I have laughed in a long time. Who knows what we would have found if we had continued? Probably more mud, but also probably more laughter, more ingenuity at the hands of my brother, and more opportunities to help each other as we struggled along the path. Thank God for those muddy times. Thank God that we have to help each other out every once in awhile. Thank God that we have to get close enough to each other to actually touch each other once in awhile. Maybe if we trusted God more to follow Him into those quagmires more often, we would get to experience that fellowship more, maybe we would get to laugh more, maybe we would delight in Him more.