I was going out for a walk by myself that afternoon at Bible camp. I had wanted to get away and have some time to think, and pray. I saw a girl running toward me, and stopped.
“I’ll go for a walk with you,” she offered.
“Okay,” I said, “I was just heading out. Come on.”
We walked off through a field, toward the beach. It was a windy day, and I found myself drawn to the water. I had a coat on, although it wasn’t really cold. Just blustery.
“Hey, wanna see the point?” she asked eagerly.
“Yeah,” I said. “I haven’t yet been out there. Is there a trail through the woods, or do you walk around on the beach?”
“Oh yeah, there’s a trail. I know how to get there. Follow me,” she said.
A moment later I was following her through a patch of wild strawberries. We stopped to pick and eat a few. She offered me every berry she picked.
Then we were in the woods, climbing up a hillside. She led. I followed. I guessed her to be about 12. She moved along the trail gracefully, and quickly. And I found myself just trying to keep up.
“Careful,” she warned. “There’s a squirrel in this tree, and every time I walk by, it throws pine cones at me.”
We laughed. I looked up in the tree and saw the squirrel.
We continued walking along the trail. She pointed out obstacles along the way, warning me to stay clear. I acknowledged them, though I was tempted to reassure her that I wasn’t completely out of my element in the woods. Instead, I kept quiet, following my guide. And wondering why it was that I should be here, on a trail winding through the woods, with this young girl.
As we climbed through the woods, the occasional view through the trees became more spectacular. We were working our way out to a point. The wind was whipping white caps on the tops of otherwise teal-colored waves. The trees, noticeably used to this wind, grew scraggly in defiance. Each time I came out from the trees to a place where I could see, I caught my breath at the beauty of this place.
“This is my favorite spot,” she announced, as we came upon a huge rock in the middle of a small clearing.
We were high up on the hill now, out on a cliff. We were exposed to the winds here. But we could see everything. The glaciers were directly across the channel from us. Their run-off evident in the water’s color. The trees were sparse here, their fallen needles several inches thick on the ground around us. And right in the middle of the little clearing was the rock.
“I like it here,” she said. “I like to sit on this rock and look out.”
“I like it here, too.” I said, sitting down. “This is a great spot to sit and think. And pray.”
She nodded, and sat down next to me on the rock.
We were silent for a few moments, absorbing the breathtaking beauty of this place. In the silence, I found myself wondering again why it was that I should be here at this moment with her.
“So you know about my mom, right?” she interrupted my thoughts.
I said that I didn’t know her mom.
“She’s a drug addict,” she said.
“Oh,” I answered quietly.
“She can’t see me, though. There’s a restraining order. Fact, she can only see me if I say it’s okay. And only with other people around.”
I said I was sorry to hear that.
She continued on, rapidly, describing for me her life, and her mother’s life. She spoke frankly, almost void of emotion. And for the second time that afternoon, I found myself just trying to keep up.
“You know,” she stated matter-of-factly, “I just don’t get how people can stick a needle in their own arm. You know?”
She turned to look at me. Searchingly. I met her eye, and nodded.
“I don’t get it,” she repeated. “I am never going to use drugs. They just ruin everything. Do you know anything about cocaine?”
I said that I knew a little about it. I said I knew that sometimes it could be really tough for people to stop using it.
“I just think that if you love somebody you ought to be able to quit using drugs for them,” she added, revealing a little more of the pain I now knew she carried.
“I know what you mean,” I said. “But I also know that it doesn’t always work that way. And I’m sorry.”
She was quiet then for a few moments, looking across at the choppy water, and the glaciers in the distance.
I waited a moment, then asked, “It’s tough sometimes, huh?”
She looked at me again, searchingly. Or maybe it was more pleadingly now. I wasn’t sure. Then she shrugged. And jumped down from the rock.
“Hey, look, there’s some ants!” she announced, and bent over to stare at the ground in front of the rock.
“There’s like a whole line of them. And they’re carrying stuff.” Whipping around to look at me, she added, “Did you know that an ant can carry like 50 times its own weight? Can you believe that?”
Not unlike you, I thought.
“Isn’t that amazing?” she continued. “For something so little they’re really strong.”
I nodded, watching her. “Yeah,” I agreed. “For something so small, that’s pretty strong.”
She went back to observing the ants. And I found myself looking around, trying to memorize the images of this place. The jagged mountains, and calving glacier, in the distance. The white-capped, glacial water rolling into the beach below me. The trees, stunted and gnarled from the winds. Evidence of all that is powerful and pristine in our creation. And this lovely little girl. Quietly and determinedly, carrying at least 50 times her own weight. And me, just trying to keep up with her.
penniesonmypath 