I restrain my feet from every evil way,*
that I may keep your word.
-Psalm 119:101

Earlier this week, I went for a hike in the mountains on a trail somewhat familiar to me.  It was one I have hiked several times, but had not done so in more than a month.  The last time I had been on the trail in this particular location, the snow was deep and fresh and I followed turkey tracks into the brambles and along the creek bed. 

This day I was excited to be back as this is a favorite and secret place of mine.  But alas, just after I had pulled into the usually empty parking lot, a man and a woman stepped out of a van from the local casino and headed into the woods.  Wait a minute.  I had planned to take a quiet hike BY MYSELF and here were interlopers making a mess of my fine plans.  I nearly left.  But “Wow, really?  I said to myself.”  Yeah, I’m not proud of it, but those were my thoughts, fine readers.  A little nudge told me to  get over myself, so I did, and I skipped down the path, past the turkey tracks, past the vultures, and into the woods.  I met the couple just as I hit the tree line.  They were turning around and walking back.  I nodded, smiled, and said hello, now disappointed for their departure. 

Taking a breath of the mountain air, I crunched across the snow, over the footbridge and into the hemlock grove.  Kerplunk!  Dazed and confused, I sat for almost a full minute before realizing that I was sitting down on the ice.  It had been so long since I had last hiked this path that I was unaccustomed to walking on the hardened snow.  Some places where the sun had melted, feet had trampled, and cold had refrozen, it was obviously ice covered.  However, plenty of other patches looked safe enough but were just as treacherous. Glad that I had been ice-skating recently and my muscle memory clearly remembered how to fall properly, I began to pick my way down the path. 

Soon I was quite confident in my knowledge of how to navigate the icy bits and how to identify the parts that looked safe but were not. I was beginning to enjoy the steady, if rather plodding, pace, when Kerplunk!  REALLY?  AGAIN?  I looked up into the sky and laughed!  “Thank you God for bringing me out into this beautiful playground”, I thought.  Then I sat down on the icy snow and, like a penguin, I descended, slipping and sliding all the way.

At the close of the loop, I found myself grateful for the reminder that putting one foot in front of the other was a lesson in humility.  I may think I know what is coming; I don’t.  Dear God, thank you for a playful relationship.  Thank you for help finding fun on the path, and avoiding the trap of anger, bitterness, and resentment, which are snares, set by the evil one. 

- Ellyn Siftar