A Hike of a Year

My sister and I share many similarities. In fact, we would frequently confuse people, often getting the question, “Are you twins?” To which we would cheerfully say, “Yes, born three years apart.” We’ve played this up over the years, swapping clothes, dressing the same. There is however, one big difference. She comes alive when outside in the fresh air, on some trail, away from the noise of civilization. And it’s not that I dislike being outdoors; I’m just a little less gung-ho for a big hike. 

As I was planning our Christmas days together as a family, I knew it would be important for my sister to get some time outside. So I did some research and planning and proposed a simple hike in Golden Ears Park. The brochure said it was 2.5 hours and 5 km. I figured that was long enough to loosen up some muscles, but not so long that I would be miserable. Mind you, as an adult I have never been to this provincial park, or attempted this particular trail. 

So last week saw a few of us bundled up in waterproof pants and leggings and toques and running shoes and fleece, bright-eyed and looking forward to the next few hours wandering through the forest. This was a gift to my sister, and I was so proud of myself. It was about 90 minutes into the hike that I began to realize that I had made a miscalculation. 

It was not 5 km round trip. It was 5 km to the bridge that marked the furthest point. 

And the trail we started on was not a simple hike. My sister later said, “Ya, that first half was a pretty technical hike.” 

Oops.

2.5 hours turned into 4.5. My Apple Watch informed me I had climbed 62 flights of stairs. We scrambled over roots, balanced on slippery rocks across streams, hiked trails that had turned into creeks due to snow melt, slid on packed down snow, encountered some hail, and I somehow managed to sweat and freeze simultaneously. 

I was so sore for several days following. 

And we had the absolute best time. We soaked in some stunning scenery. We heard the roar of water rushing over falls, as well as a gentle trickle of water running down a slope. 

As I lay in bed at the end of the day, it dawned on me that this hike was a lot like the year we just had as a family. 

There were moments where I felt the weight of the heavy slog that was nowhere near done. We had to just keep going. One day at a time. And there were weeks that felt like a straight uphill climb. A season of porphyria attacks and depression for me. Bob being gone every weekend for 4 months straight for his MBA. The weeks of adjusting to Kindergarten and daycare for Elizabeth and Eleanor. The six weeks of working in a unassembled kitchen as Bob and I attempted to repaint the cabinets by ourselves. Uncertainties, disappointments, missing loved ones, weariness of the mundane, exhaustion. These were the roots we had to scramble over. 

But there were moments where the trees would part and we would look up from our feet. Bob and I celebrated 10 years married. We got to see my parents for the first time in 1.5 years. Bob helped lead  the company he works for through a major acquisition, all while achieving high marks in his MBA. Elizabeth has learned how to write and can already start to read simple words. Eleanor keeps us amused with her constant singing, her love for snacks, and her very precise ways of doing things. We have a beautiful green kitchen. 

And we made it. Do we feel a little sore? Yes. Like most people, we are leaving this year with some bumps and bruises. But we are also leaving this year with memories and grateful hearts. 

There was a moment on the hike where the roar of the waterfall threatened to drown out all other noise. And yet close to my ear I heard this distinct trickle of a stream of water running down the bank I was descending. It struck me in that moment. I want to tune my ears to hear what is happening beyond the noise. Sometimes the roar of media and news and fear and content threatens to drown out everything else. I want to tune my heart to hear the noise of the stream of Living Water and the mark He is leaving in my life and in the world around me. 

As we close out this year in this space, I want to say two things: 

First, thank you. Thank you, friend on the other side of the screen reading these words. Thank you for joining my sisters and I on this journey of writing what we are learning from what is around us. Thank you for taking the time. In a world with so much content out there, it means a lot that you choose to be here. I pray it is refreshing to your heart and mind. 

Second, this month will mark 1/3 of the way through the Faith in the Middle series I am doing. It has been an absolute honour and joy to write and share these women’s stories with you. If you haven’t yet, you can read about Lauren, Christina, Vanessa, and Allison. Keep looking for new stories on the last Friday of every month.

Let me leave you with this. Arguably one of the best Christmas carols ever, O Holy Night, has the following lines: 

“Long lay the world in sin and error pining

'Til He appears and the soul felt its worth

A thrill of hope the weary world rejoices

For yonder breaks a new and glorious morn.”

O friends, He appeared. Let us rejoice and feel that thrill of hope! The light has come and is coming again. We may not know the time or hour, but we can have peace knowing it is coming, that new and glorious morn! Whatever the darkness is that you are currently walking through, whatever the next year may hold for us individually or collectively: The light has come and the darkness CAN NOT overcome it. 

Merry Christmas, and Happy New Year. 

PS. After the hike my sister went SWIMMING! In a glacier fed lake. In December! I love her, but she’s crazy! 

A photo from our hike in Golden Ears Provincial Park, BC.