In answer to your question, yes, my time out was EXACTLY what I needed, thank you for asking.
I have been really trying to feel close to my Heavenly Father a lot lately, with some pretty specific questions in mind, and He was kind enough to give me answers to all of my current questions within a weeks' time away from my children.
Isn't He wonderful?
To give you a little background on the insights I want to try to share here, during the first part of the week, Steve and I went with our good friends Kyle and Julie to hike some GOOORGEOUS scenery around Sedona, Page, and southern Utah for Monday through Wednesday.
Even the experience of driving with only grown-ups in the car when you're used to traveling with little ones can be a novelty--look how excited Steve and I are that no one is crying, begging for snacks, or hitting each other!!
On our first hike up to Devil's Peak, I spent most of the time either third or fourth in our little pack, which was actually nice--I don't like the pressure/responsibility of making sure I'm setting a pace that works for everyone, and although the last part of the hike was actually pretty difficult and steep, I felt pretty good about the fact that I did so well for having not done ANY cardio since last October.
Once we got up there, although the view severely tested my irrational fear of heights (LOOK at that!!! It's crazy!), it was definitely worth the hike, and we enjoyed the scenery for a while together before hiking back down and driving to Pita Jungle for dinner (holy delicious, Batman).
The next days' hike through Buckskin Gulch was where I began to have these incredible insights that made me grateful that I decided to listen to the Spirit and actually go on this trip.
For a little background: lately, I've gone through some experiences that have brought something to my attention--I am a "rescuer." I like to try to rescue people from unpleasant situations, and I have been that way since I was a child. I would try to help/save/rescue people whether they were roommates, the women I visit taught, friends, family, companions, investigators on my mission; you name it, I was always sure I could save them if I loved them enough, taught them enough, or gave them enough. And if they weren't doing things in the way I thought they should, I would try to show them the path they "should" walk, whether they wanted to or not, and then feel guilt-ridden and responsible when they chose not to walk the path I had outlined so easily for them.
Lately I've especially been noticing that tendency in myself with a few of the people in my life, and I've been learning that the tendency to want to save or rescue people, while good in its intentions (we've all sat through numerous talks and lessons on service and charity), is actually pretty darn prideful and very different from good ol' Christlike charity.
Who am I to try to be the savior of these people, when there is in fact, only One True Savior?
So, my personal studies and prayers have been about these new insights, trying to learn how to keep my interactions with these people to simply listening, loving, and letting go, and although it sounds simple or easy, trying to change a habit that you've had for 20 + years can actually be tricky.
Who knew?
As we started hiking, we realized that the first three or so miles of this hike were actually pretty similar scenery to what I live in--high Arizonan desert. For quite a long time, we weren't sure if we were actually following a legitimate hiking path or a cow trail, and although there were some pretty red rock formations along the way, it wasn't anything like the phenomenal pictures we had seen on the website that had led us to this hike in the first place.
I also need to mention the fact that we were walking through finely sifted blow sand that we would sink in up to our ankles with every step, and that seemed to fill the insides of our shoes within moments of emptying them out again. If you've never walked in fine sand so deep, it can basically be described as taking one step backwards for every two steps you take forward. It makes running or hiking exponentially more difficult, and although this first part of the hike was pretty level elevation-wise, the sand plus the fact that the path we were following cut across a wash several times and needed both climbing down steep inclines and then back up steep inclines made it much more difficult and much less fun.
To be honest, at first, I wasn't even sure we had read the directions correctly, and knowing that the hike itself was 21 miles long made me nervous. What if the actual "pretty" part of the hike didn't start until ten miles in?
I wisely kept my doubts to myself, however, and just tried to have a good attitude. Although the scenery was familiar to someone who grew up on the ranches of Northern Arizona, I tried to focus on finding the beauty in it and feeling close to the Creator in that wide open silence.
At one point, I noticed something--while we walked, at some points, all four of us would walk the exact same path, in a straight line, nearly following in each others' footprints. However, in some places where the sand got really deep or hard to walk in, I would tend to climb out of the rut and walk in the weeds along the side of the path--not because I thought the path Kyle and Steve were walking in was wrong, but because I felt that the path I was choosing might be easier for me. And sometimes it was, sometimes it wasn't, but there would be times when we would walk for quite a ways on different little trails, rather than in the exact same path.
As I got to about mile three and once again fell back into the same path as the other people in my group after having hiked along a different way for a while, a thought came to me. "You're each walking your own personal paths. Sometimes they are the same, sometimes people have to go their own individual ways, but they are not the same. As you're hiking, you're able to watch these people you love go at their own pace and in their own way, and you have no judgement or impatience for them. Is it so difficult or different to apply this to your life in other ways?"
I mulled this over for a while, and as we finally made it to our destination--the beautiful slot canyon that makes me think that God must be an artist at heart to create something so incredible--I was once again struck with this same principle in yet another way.
We followed the canyon for about another mile or so (for the record, I'm TERRIBLE at judging distances when I'm hiking, but Julie had her phone tracking our distance and we ended up hiking about 11 miles total), when it opened up into this HUGE intersection. There were three canyons intersecting with each other with a natural amphitheater etched into the rock, and although we had spent the entirety of our hike up to this point being the only people in view, in this intersection we saw several other groups, all climbing in and out of the canyons enjoying the awesome beauty around us.
One thing I noticed as we walked around, however, was that most of these other people seemed a bit fresher than our little group seemed to be. We were dusty and hot from walking in the sand and sun for so many miles, and although it was cool and refreshing in the canyon itself, we still looked much more haggard than any of the other groups we saw. As we sat down to take a break at one point, I decided to ask someone where they had hiked in from.
He pointed up one of the canyons and said, "We parked at the trailhead about half a mile up that way."
I gaped. No wonder he looked so fresh and energetic--hiking only half a mile through cool, shady canyon walls without having to deal with the blow sand like we had? As I watched him and his group walk around, exclaiming and taking pictures, I had another thought strike me.
"Again, it would be so easy for these people to judge you, not knowing your background. They don't know about the sand you've been walking through, they don't know that you had to walk for four and a half miles to get here--they only know that you're here and how you look from the outside. But it doesn't matter who walked further or had the harder hike--what matters is that you're here, now, and you're all enjoying the fruits of your labors together.
"How often do you judge someone you see without knowing their background or their trials? It doesn't matter what path someone is taking to get to their Destination, or at what speed or pace they take it. You don't know about rocky or sandy paths, you don't see the fitness level of someone's soul, but you can see when they cross your path, and you can love them without judgement and without feeling the responsibility to save them. That is what you need to do. Nothing more, nothing less."
So that incredibly deep and profound subject was what my mind mulled over all through the hike out, and although I had the thought that the path was significantly easier once I knew without a doubt that it was the right one (yes, I saw the symbolism in that thought as well), the trip out was just a nice experience of meandering back to the car.
On the way back to the hotel, we stopped at Horseshoe Bend and took pictures--I once again had to keep myself from hyperventilating as I watched my mountain goat of a husband stand precariously close to the edge, but the view really was incredible. You know, what I saw of it from ten feet away from the edge.
Next up: The second half of my Time Out week, aka Salt Lake City and what it felt like to be a country mouse in the big city!
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