The Road Less Traveled

Making my Way Through the Wilds

There is something to be said for staying on the well-worn path. Walking where many have walked, following in their footsteps, easily traversing the wide, cleared, and often dusty route. We speak of the road less traveled in a kind of romanticized way.  But the road less traveled is often overgrown and difficult to navigate.  Each footfall becomes calculated as you scan the ground for the safest way through the tangle of weeds, vines, thorns, and young tree growth that camouflage the trail.

Kurt has been working with a group of volunteers to clean up and clear some of the overgrown sections of the Buckeye Trail that wind through our part of Southern Ohio.  The work is physical and requires sawing, weed eating, and moving downed trees from the path. It is good work. It is important work. The Buckeye Trail is a 1,444-mile hiking trail and long-distance trail that loops around the state of Ohio.  It seems that our part of the trail has been neglected for some time.

Kurt wanted to show me the work that he and the crew had been doing on the trail one beautiful Sunday afternoon this fall.  We packed the backpack and with our dog Tanner we headed to the trailhead.  When we arrived at a small cleared grassy area, Kurt announced, “we’re here.” As I looked around at the parking spaces allotted for this leg of the Buckeye Trail, I was unimpressed to say the least.  Had I been behind the wheel I would have driven on past.  We got out of the car, gathered our gear, and made our way up the trail.  The first section of the trail was easy to navigate thanks to the hard work of the volunteers. Although wide and clearly marked it has not seen much foot traffic in recent years and the crew has had to remove many young trees leaving small trunks sticking up an inch or two.  It is easy to miss these in the grass and catch your toe on them.  After tripping a couple of time, I learned to pay attention and pick up my feet.  It was a beautiful day, a great day for a hike.  Kurt pointed to the work they had done as we walked, where trees had been moved, the equipment they had used, and any funny antidotes that made the work gratifying.

Our dog Tanner is just 1 year old.  It had been 7 years since our dear Griffey had died when we brought our new puppy home. We were finally ready for a new dog.  In our conversations around getting another dog we agreed that our new pet would be going with us when we camped and hiked. We exposed Tanner early and often to our two favorite activities.  Griffey did not like camping as it made him nervous, but he loved walking and hiking with us.  We took Tanner on his first camping trip just a few weeks after we got him, and he has spent several nights in the camper since.  Tanner loves hiking and just getting out the harness he wears when we hike is enough to send him into a frenzy.

Hiking, much like life is full of ups and downs, grassy prairies, steep climbs, and muddy, sloppy messes.  Hiking even in oft trod trails is always changing because the trail is always in flux.  This summer while camping in the Hocking Hills we hiked a trail that is a favorite of trail riders on horseback.  Due to the spring rains, it was a cratered with deep impressions from the horses hooves making each step difficult.  This was the wide path and yet it was treacherous too.

The point is that life is hard. We expend a lot of energy deciding between the wide path or the road less traveled hoping to find the path with the least pain. We also waist time judging others and their choice of paths. I realize now that both paths bring their own challenges. That we are all doing the best that we can.  In my work I listen as clients share about the regrets they have about their own paths and their fears of choosing the right path forward.  I try to remind them that we are human, that sometimes we get it right and sometimes we get it wrong.  That’s ok.  We are always free to assess the situation and change direction.

That day on the Buckeye Trail, Kurt and I decided to follow the blue blazes onto the part of the trail that hadn’t been cleaned up for many years.  We carefully moved through the brush and scampered over downed trees. We moved thorns and briers out of our way.  At one point we realized we had made a wrong turn and retraced our steps back to the last blue blaze we had seen and started from there in a different direction.  It was hard picking up my legs, eyes scanning the ground for the best place to put my foot. One step at a time.  Now, I am a slow hiker anyway and, on this day, I was even slower.  We worked our way through the overgrowth for a while, Tanner leading the way.  At some point, no longer able to hold it in, I told Kurt, “This is terrible.”  It wasn’t long before we turned back and headed to our car.

I realized that I have been somewhat spoiled with our trails here in Southern Ohio.  They are generally wide and well-marked.  It is easy to see where the path goes as you look out, each step not requiring scrutiny. What the wide path lacks in nostalgia is makes up for in practicality.

It was a good day, and it was nice to spend some time in the wild.  I have spent most of my life following in the way I should go.  Doing the things I should do, staying on the wide path.  And yet at heart I am a trailblazer.  I am an outlier.  I am a rebel.  In small ways making my stand against what is expected.  You could call me weird and that would be true. Sometimes I think being weird is my superpower.  I am ok with being different until I am not.  I am ok with taking the road less traveled until I am not, until I claim it terrible and turn around to set off toward the wide road.

Ministry was a lot like that day on the trail.  You know, the whole in the world but not of the world thing.  Being different, being set apart.  But also conforming and being what was expected and right and good.  It was challenging to balance the two.  Within the overgrown, trailblazing path of Christianity there was a wide, well-worn path of conformity.  I am seeing that now, seeing the contradiction.  Be different, just be different exactly like we are different.  Which isn’t novel at all. There did not seem to be room for rebels like me.  So, I conformed, and as an Enneagram One I was going to be the very best conformist I could be.  Wanting so desperately to be seen as good.  I fell in with the others on the wide path of Christianity even as a part of me withered longing for the wilds.

As I continue to question and give space to my doubts, I see that I bought into a wide path of conformity described as a narrow road. I want now to find my own way.  To see my way through the thickets.  Fortunately, there have been trailblazers before me.  Those beginning to open the path, a volunteer crew with the likes of Rachel Held Evans, Brian D. McLaren, Richard Rohr, Sarah Bessy, Jen Hatmaker, Diana Butler Bass, and many others I have not yet met.  They have gone before, clearing out the tangle of weeds, vines, thorns, and young tree growth that camouflage the way forward. 

I am thankful for those who are on the path ahead of me. Those who have made a way for me to find whatever it is I am searching for.  That is not clear right now.  I know the old trail is no longer calling to me.  The new trail not yet fully visible.  Still, I walk on, following those just ahead of me wielding their weed eaters, saws, and scythes

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