Blindfolded

When we were small, we lived 2 blocks from the grocery store and 1 block from the swimming pool. My mom has long joked, "I want you to be like Jesus- so we walk everywhere!" And we did, even when our legs were tiny and our feet tender. Sometimes, when we were tired and whiny walking home, Mom would wrap a beach towel over our eyes and lead us by the hand, telling us when to take big steps, stop for a passing car, or when to expect gravel instead of concrete. We learned to stay close to her, trust her direction, and listen for her voice.

A decade and a half later, I was in northern WI at the beginning of Wheaton's freshman backpacking trip, an experience that changed me in many ways, but this was before much changing had taken place. Our group was blindfolded and led in a line to the ropes course. Thinking back on it, it was a very practical blindfolding- we were walking right through the middle of camp but thought we were in unexplored forest. I remember cheating- looking through the bottom of my blindfold to get some idea what the ground was like.

Two weeks after that, I would have given anything to be blindfolded and led. I was exhausted, having walked further, cried harder, and dealt with more pain than I had ever experienced before. I wanted to just walk with my eyes closed, to not have to make any decisions, and to hear my mom's certain voice alerting me to the dangers ahead.

And about a week ago I was again walking blind.

We departed from Kibo Hut at midnight, after some cookies and a hot Drink of Summitters. The mountain had been fogged in when we arrived the afternoon before, and we could only see the foot of the uphill trail we would be taking throughout the night. When we departed, however, it was clear and cold- I was wearing every layer of long underwear, fleece, and windproofing I owned, but I'd start to shiver whenever I stood still. I wisely filled my camelbak with hot water and wore it under my ski jacket, but the exposed part of the tube still froze.

There was no moon, and I have never seen stars like that. With such thin atmosphere, the points of light were brighter and nearer than I thought possible, right at the edge of the black hulk of the mountain. I was reminded of a book that was read to me as a child, where in the end all the centaurs simply walk into the sky and are greeted by the stars. I felt like we were hiking toward the seam of earth and sky.

It was hard to get a sense for how steep the mountain was as we switchbacked up and up and up by the light of our headlamps. We could see the glow of other groups above and below us as they too fought the mountain for passage, fought the atmosphere for breath, and fought their bodies for strength. Usually, I can sing to myself to keep going, but this time I could only repeat one line over and over: You are my Strength when I am weak. You are my Strength when I am weak.

We rested our muscles at each switchback turn. I couldn't tell where the trail was, but Moses led us through the coarse scree with the slow purpose I had come to trust. We had been above treeline for days, and now we were above vegetation at all. There were only different sizes of rock- boulder, scree, sand, and dust. We stopped in the shelter of a bigger rock, and he handed us a small cup of tea from a thermos. That warm, sweet drink was the best I have ever tasted.

And on we pressed. The looming shape of the mountain never got any smaller. The starline seemed equally far away. And upward we hiked. I happened to glance at the sky just as a shooting star fell- my gasp of delight made everyone think I had been injured, and it took a moment to sort that out.

After a while, I had no energy to even look around. All that existed were the heels of the person in front of me and the pounding of my heart as my blood ran triple-time to get any oxygen to my body. The terrain changed, from plodding through coarse sand to skirting snow to grappling up sharp volcanic boulders. We passed other hikers who we had met over the previous 4 days- some were getting sick, others were unsure as to whether they should go on.

And suddenly, like appearing over a canyon edge, we were there. Gillman's Point. On the rim of Mount Kilimanjaro. Our group merged with another, and we sang songs and drank more tea. The route description I had read beforehand said it would take another 2 hours of walking along the crater rim to reach the very highest point. But we were feeling good and ready to continue.

Somewhere along here I lose my memory. I remember hiking along an edge, but not a particularly narrow one. I remember getting to Stella Point, where the climbers from another route joined us. I remember thinking that I don't especially like hiking on snow. And I remember the sun coming up over our right shoulders as Marcey looked at me with concern. My legs weren't working right, and I could no longer tell if I was hot or cold. I was just... there.

I recalled my mother's pre-trip warning: "As I was praying for you, I was impressed to tell you to beware of your strong will!" I knew my thoughts were sluggish, and I decided to be wise, admit my body was feeble, and turn around. But when I expressed my weakness, God responded with one of the greatest acts of kindness I've ever experienced: Moses came to me, took my hand, and led me. I nearly began to cry in surprise and gratitude. I walked with my eyes closed, resting my head on his shoulder whenever we paused, feeling the warmth of the sun and the focus of the guide beside me. He lent me his strength, and he had perspective I didn't- he knew the summit was just past what I could see. About 20 feet from the top, he handed me back my trekking poles and said "I know you can do it from here."

Indeed I did. The early sun was blinding, and the wind was starting to pick up. I remember hanging on to one side of the sign while someone took pictures. Though the air was clear, my mind was a fog, but I instinctively knew I didn't want to stay here for long. We began the walk back, and my acuity increased with each downhill step.

By the time we got to Gillman's, I was mentally back again, and I looked down in amazement at what we had done: we had come up THAT?! You're kidding! That's 75 degree loose scree, peppered with just enough boulders to make it really bad if you fell! I did this in the dark? I think it's safe to say that if I had seen the path ahead of time, I probably wouldn't have done it. And that's part of the beauty of being blindfolded, isn't it? If you can only see by the light of your headlamp, you only concern yourself with those 3 steps. There are advantages to not seeing the big picture.

I've done a lot of whining about how I don't know what this summer will look like. And the Kili trip was God's tangible reminder that I don't have to know the plan for it to be a good one. So my summer prayer has become

I accept the darkness

in it I see the stars

I embrace my weakness

there I experience new strength

And I thank You for the blindfolded times

for I know beyond a doubt

I am being led.