Detour Revisited
Places speak to us. Whether we are in our childhood home, a beloved camp, the beach, or wherever else, there is something about being in a special place that makes the past burst forth into life. In scripture, people were always erecting altars to remind them of the places in which they felt close to God. They could return to that place and remember. Or they could point to those stones and gift the story of those holy encounters to younger generations. If we’re fortunate, we get to go back to those places.
About a decade ago, EA spoke at a conference that gave us the opportunity to travel to Portland, Oregon. That trip began my ongoing love affair with the Pacific Northwest and introduced me to the glorious wonder that is Powell’s City of Books. It was also an interesting time in my life because I was at a personal crossroads. I had made the difficult decision to leave a vocation that I loved and was uncertain of what was next. This simmering existential anxiety came to a head and a holy place on that trip during a solo hike to the top of Multnomah Falls.
Our boys were little—one and three—when we made that first trip so we left them home with my parents. So it was really surreal when we pulled into the parking lot at Multnomah for the second time ever and so much looked familiar except there was an 11 year-old and 14 year-old piling out of the backseat. I would like to document that in the moment I thought, “Ah, yes, now the time has come to gift the story of this place to our children” but I was probably making sure that our sons had water bottles and hats.
Oh yeah, because here is another big difference between trips. We last visited Multnomah Falls on a cool and overcast October day. But this was a bright and sunny July afternoon. And while a July afternoon in Oregon is almost always preferable to the humidity-caused hot bug chowder days we have in the South, it was going to increase the level of difficulty in what we had come that day to do: climb to the top of the falls.
(One other major difference: last time I was 31 and regularly running half-marathons. This time I was 41 and…well, not regularly running half-marathons. It significantly impacted the journey.)
A decade ago, EA was the one who encouraged me to hike to the top. She knows me well enough to nudge me into those sacred spaces and I am forever grateful for that insight. This time she really wanted to make the climb with me and she made a good go of it. Unfortunately, an ankle injury from just before our trip was not agreeing with the steep elevation gain of the trail and she wisely elected to go back down to the visitor’s center. Our 14 year old Jim elected to return with her.
Liam, on the other hand, still wanted to go to the top. The last time I was on this trail, he was a toddler scooting around back in South Carolina. Now, with the Columbia River below us, he was this middle school kid eager to conquer the path laid out for us. So we continued to climb up the switchbacks; our elevation increasing over 600 feet in the course of a mile.
The last time I was climbing to the top of the falls, my imagination drew many parallels between my journey to a destination I had never seen and the vocational trail that I was struggling to climb in my life. It helped give me some clarity and perspective on what was going on. But I remember recognizing that I was walking the Multnomah trail alone and how I often felt so lonely as I tried to find my way towards whatever God had next for me. I knew in my head that I was not alone. That there was God, EA, family, and friends. But when you are in one of those existential simmers, it can make your feelings loom large.
But this time? Not alone. Not by a long shot. There was a running commentary of everything going on punctuated regularly by the question of how much further we had to go. It was different from the solemn and spiritual quiet of my first hike. And it was also a delight. One of the reasons that I am writing this is so that I remember the time that Liam and I climbed to the top of Multnomah Falls. That is a memory that I want to cherish as long as I possibly can.
The cool thing for me is that Multnomah Falls is now both this holy place of solitude and this holy place of being together. It is peace, quiet, and marveling at what God can do. And it is random non sequiturs, laughter, and marveling at what God can do with a waterfall and with a kid bounding beside me. I was not alone. And wherever the journey takes me next, I get to do it with so many people that God has gifted me.
There were also two unrelated but life-lessony things that Liam and I noticed as we got to the top. First, there was a family that we kept swapping positions with on our way up the trail. Then ultimately, they gave up and turned around to go back down. It turned out that they stopped about one switchback from the top. They were so close. If only they had pressed on just a little more.
Second, when we finally came to the overlook at the top of the falls there was this breathtaking scenery. The people below looked like ants and Liam could not believe that we had climbed up all that way. And beside us, for the entire five or ten minutes we were up there, was a guy on his phone. Not taking pictures. Not talking to a friend or a loved one on the phone about the amazing sight before him. He was just scrolling. Facebook. ESPN. The whole time. Barely looked up. Majestic nature was right there. Heck, he dedicated part of his day just to climb to that spot. I know that probably sounds very “old man yells at sky,” but the 11 year old digital native thought it was weird and kind of sad too.
Hiking back down, the two of us were tired yet glad that we made the trip. In my mind, I remembered why that place had been so important to me the first time. How it reminded me of what God can do and recalled the concept of Ebenezer, that God had brought me safe thus far. That was still true. And I am so grateful I got to share that story with someone this time.
