I started on the Katy Trail March 9. That morning I had listened to a Hallow Fr. Mike Schmitz homily that posed the question: “Do I believe that God is a god of abundance or of scarcity?” It’s a theme I heard repeatedly when we were putting together this little fundraiser:
- “I would love to but I am focusing on …”
- “If you do this again I am in. I just can’t this year.”
- “We have so many battles here at home.”
- “Why now? Couldn’t you have waited until the weather was better?” This comment felt prophetic as the trek unfolded.
These were all honest, valid concerns. The people saying them could have walked by without a word. I needed to honor their thoughts and reflect.
March 9 I began hiking the day’s 18 miles. I was scared: I didn’t know if I could truly hike the distance with my 34–pound pack. Sean dropped me at the Clinton trailhead embuing me with the confidence that I was faking.
I didn’t doubt whether God was enough, just whether I was.
Within the first three miles I had to stop five times to empty chat from my shoes. I could feel the grainy pebbles creating blisters already. I finally peeled off my pack and put on my gaiters, shoe coverings intended to minimize debris in my shoes. (Yes, I could have begun with the gaiters, but that is a different blog.) The window to doubt cracked open.
Meanwhile, frogs and birds sung and the forsythia leafed out in the unseasonably warm spring day. Cardinals swooped back and forth in front of me, as if they were leading me down the trail. Cattails stood three to four inches out of the ground. Nature burst forth all around me.
Nine-and a-half miles in I passed through the first trailhead, Calhoun, where I did not find any water. I had known that finding water would be a challenge on the trail: Entire towns along the trail close in the off season. They struggle to stretch their uncertain seasonal income across the year.
I needed to ration my water for the last half of the day. The window opened further.
A few miles later three bald eagles — two full grown adults and one smaller adult — soared over the fields and across the trail. They stayed for only a few minutes, but it was enough for me to praise and sing gratitude.
By mile 15 my day’s trail food was spent along with my phone’s battery. I had not yet figured out how to charge it as I hiked. Low water, no food, no distraction.
The wind picked up. Behind me. A cooling, propelling breeze. Thank You, God.
About a mile from Windsor, I saw a woman and her dog approaching the trail. I wanted to know how long before I could stop for the day. I told her SFX was raising money for Belize education through the Lighthouse Hike. (I cannot swear whether I did this to share the mission or to defend the nuttiness of being on the trail before the season.) “Oh, I love Pope Francis and Pope Leo,” she exclaimed. Her dog decided we should walk together for a bit. So, we walked and prayed for compassion and peace. My spirits soared as we hugged before she turned around.
A few minutes later, I saw Fred waving his arms, encouraging those last steps.
For the 10 days of this journey every time I stumbled, God picked me up. Sometimes, He was the breeze or the sunshine. Sometimes, He was a friend or a stranger. He was always enough.