Hiking Photos Just Random Shots

I choose to walk six miles of trail.

The trail begins in the low Sonoran Desert, among giant saguaro cacti, and climbs directly into the high-desert chaparral, among the Emory oaks. In six miles, the landscape changes completely. Desert becomes high desert. Cacti give way to oak. The farther I climb, the more the world changes around me.

I would do it every day if I could, even knowing the difficulty, the ache and pain in my legs, the weight of my pack, and the quickness of my breath as I slowly make my way toward the summit.

The payoff is hearing the birds, finding macro seed pods that look like baby birds with their mouths wide open, spotting iridescent beetles, and feeling the wind cool my skin. It is watching the landscape change beneath my feet, from one kind of desert into another.

There is something about walking alone that brings me closer to God. Maybe it’s because there is nothing to distract me from the quiet. I can walk and pray. I can be silent. I can notice the world around me and remember that I didn’t create any of it, yet I get to walk through it.

I walk in quiet mindfulness, noting each step, each breath. Silence becomes meditation, and the walk reminds me that I am still here.

I don’t have to know what is waiting at the summit. I don’t have to know what is around the next bend. I only need to take the next step.

When I reach the top, I spread my arms out and slowly turn. There it is, stretching out in every direction, an amazing kaleidoscope of beauty that God created. For a moment, I just stand there and take it in.

And then, with reluctance, I turn and start the descent.

I know the return to the car will feel longer. My steps will be slower. My legs will ache, but my determination will be stronger. I will return calmer, more balanced, more self-aware, with a sense of pride in knowing that I chose to walk those miles.

And there is never any sameness in it.

The same trail I have walked before is always different. The light changes. The wind changes. The birds change. I change. Every step is new, and every step takes me somewhere I have never been before.

Maybe that’s what faith is for me now.

Not knowing exactly where the trail leads, but trusting that I don’t have to walk it alone.

I am choosing to start living my life.

There was a time when I had children on the trail with me. Their bright laughter, endless questions, and, of course, the “Are we there yet?”

I miss those days.

I miss the days when I shared my path with people I loved.

Now I walk these paths alone.

But being alone on the trail means I have confidence in myself. I am strong. I am capable. I create my own pace. I can take the time to notice what is around me. I can stop and take that picture. And when I need to rest, I can.

I don’t have to prove anything to anyone.

At 67, I might be slower, but I am stronger.

God has not asked me to be who I was at 30. He has given me these feet, this body, this trail, and this day.

So I will walk.

Psalm 18:32-33

“It is God who arms me with strength and keeps my way secure. He makes my feet like the feet of a deer; he causes me to stand on the heights.”