Last Saturday our family hiked to Lindeman Lake, enjoying the cool shade of 100-foot Douglas Firs as we gained 1000 feet of elevation over 1.7 kilometers.
We progressed forward and up with each step over roots and between rocks. Occasionally mud squished around our boots and we held onto saplings to keep from skidding. Our pace produced sweat and sometimes limited conversation. I made sure we stopped periodically to enjoy the view.
The exertion paid off.
Lindeman Lake impressed with her glacier-fed waters and corresponding temperature. The pristine lake sits surrounded by steep slopes bearing evidence of winter avalanches and summer rock slides. We hiked to the end of the lake and found a spot to soak in the sun and scenery. Well, some of us did.
The enormous landslides of boulders provided a rugged staircase for the mountain goats at heart. One who ventured up first shouted down that the view definitely exceeded the effort. I couldn’t resist.
The higher I climbed, the more clearly the lake’s depths and contours could be appreciated. Three shades of blue at water’s edge expanded with pockets of navy surrounded by multiple green hues and turquoise bursts. Looking down into the depths and being able to see the floor through the transparent water was breathtaking.
I love reminders from God’s creation that a higher view gives a more comprehensive perspective.
But perhaps the more striking take-away from the day came on our descent. A pool formed where a log had fallen across the path, preventing proper drainage. One son attempted to lift the downed tree but the weight of its saturated trunk and collected debris proved too much. We sloshed through the muddy water, but the picture stuck with me.
If someone had come upon this situation right away and dug even one small hole under the log, that means for runoff into the woods would have spared the trail from mini-lakes and prevented erosion. I found myself pondering the application to my own life.
Am I expressing feelings and thoughts in timely, appropriate ways instead of stuffing or harboring resentments? Do I have healthy, built-in methods to “drain” the intensity of emotion or do I live with internal logjams that threaten to burst or inhibit healthy relating?
In our hiking situation we were only left with wet, muddy feet. But if that tree doesn’t get moved soon serious damage could be done to the trail, keeping future adventurers from enjoying the lake.
Similarly, issues left unattended for a while can be skirted without too much disruption, giving a false sense that all is well. Over time, however, relational damage to self, others and with God grows. I want to be one who keeps short accounts so that relationships flow freely. Do you?
With love and gratitude,
In The Midst