Long have been these days of quarantine, and if lockdown activists have their way, longer they shall be. For my own two cents, I actually found the first few months of lockdown rather charming in a way, a position which I wager likely puts me in the minority…probably not just the minority but a far removed class of outliers to be deliberately and forever excluded from the dataset. Ah well, I had a good summer, darn it, and that was overwhelmingly due to the ever-near presence of family throughout it. But, since then, the charm has worn off, and my mind rebels at the thought of stagnation. Thus, like I suspect many of my fellow Americans determined, I resolved to make the most of what activities I can do and pursue the art of hiking.

Virginia, in particular, is lovely for hiking. The Shenandoah Valley lies just to the west of the D.C. area, and even the immediately surrounding land is fertile for such excursions. Fancy a waterfall? Try Great Falls. What about some neat-o rock formations? Old Rag to be sure. And what if I just want to look out for miles and miles? Catoctin stands ready with open arms. Put simply, if you think you’ve run out of hikes around here, you’re doing something very, painfully wrong.

To fully capture the joy of hiking, one must simply experience it. Oh sure, it’s not all sunshine and bubble gum. Some trails have to be hit at the crack of dawn, a sobering experience for those of us with more night-owlish sentiments. Not every trail delights the senses; fire roads must sometimes be traversed for miles with nary a bloom to arouse the senses. One hike, in particular, I remember (a) the 4 mile exit path consisting largely of fire roads and gravel paths and (b) the ease with which I zoned into a zombie-like trance of non-attention as I walked (my compatriot that day actually ended up ‘sleepwalking’ of sorts for several hundred yards, much to my giggling amusement). Of course, no list of cons would be complete without mentioning the inherent risk. Aching muscles, insufficient food or water, limbs sliced by thorns and rocks — one would be lucky to emerge from a substantial hike unscathed in some manner. Said compatriot on a separate hike through rolling hills and icy paths fell victim to the most cartoonish, banana-peel styled slip I have witnessed firsthand, comical enough at the time and place, though a wrong step in a different situation would have been far more tragic.

Yet, the risk, the bruises, the cuts, the wounds, the drudgery, the aches — all worth it in the end. Miles of elevation change and hard going are rewarded with the most stunning and divine of views; one can see in an instant why the ancients looked to the mountains as the dwelling place of the gods. Along the way, a thousand delights stand to be experienced. Shady spots to rest, rock formations to scramble upon, rivers and streams to refresh the weary traveler. To say nothing of the camaraderie of the experience, the forging of brotherhood and sisterhood as men and women hold fast to the task, however daunting, before them. The trail beckons one to a place of contemplation, reflection, and a unique openness; some of my deepest and most meaningful talks have come on the trail, the soul’s defenses against vulnerability being overwhelmed by the journey. Not a few times, I’ve even made new friends along the way; the trail brings many together. One also finds God more present there, the noise and distraction of the every day having been stripped away. The trials of life seem small when considering the grandeur and breadth before you, to the point where even one atheist I knew confessed, “As I stood there, considering all that was before me, I thought for once that maybe He is actually there…”

Any hiker knows all this intuitively and would scoff at the suggestion, “Why be so inefficient? Your end goal is right over there. Just go there and be done with your task, saving yourself countless hours of toil and meandering about.” Of course, the suggestion is ridiculous; patently absurd, I might go so far as to say. And yet, so often I believe this is how we treat life, most notably when God sends trials into our life. “Why all this fuss? Why all this waiting and work? Why all this aching and danger? Why not just take us to the final destination now and be done with it?”

Yet, it cannot work that way. The joy, the peace, the rest, the meaning, and the satisfaction you seek are all bound up in that process, that unavoidable journey. There is no escaping it. No benefit from the hike unless the trail is forged, and the body be directed as such. No benefit from this life unless the trail is forged, and the body and soul be directed to Christ. To ask otherwise is to ask for the illogical at best and a non-reality at worst. For God will not have us racing about just to tick boxes, oblivious to all that is before us. He will have us go through it, and in doing so, that way He shall have the images and, as a result, the family He has always desired, shaped and molded into the likeness of His Son and fit for a future of unimaginable joy.

So it is when God tells us to take a hike. Some will be taken alone, others with community, and a few will have people ducking in and out along the way. They will be of all stripes, and one shall be our last some day. The cost is real, but so is the reward. The joy you seek is real, the hope you hold fast to is real, and the Jesus who has saved you is real.

Happy trails, brethren.