At long last we put foot to trail and set off for the walk to the next village. That first step marks the end of a long process of divvying gear, packing up, loading up, receiving gifts, finding somewhere to put them, saying goodbye, thanking everyone for their hospitality, sharing our plans, laughing at a memory, discussing trail options and how long it would take, affirming the connection we’d established, checking the room one last time, thinking of another question to ask, shaking a few more hands, taking photos with new friends, asking, “Is everyone ready?” again, taping up a hot spot on someone’s foot so it wouldn’t blister, discussing the possibility of reconnecting in the future… several false starts later, the first steps are an accomplishment!
If you’re me, your bare feet conform to the contours of the trail, feeling every stone and root, the hot sand of the beach or the cool mud of the bush. My feet have known the cut of a machete, the fangs of a snake, the thorns and sharp rocks of many a trail. Through hard living, they have become wise.
Feet feel the way as eyes, nose, ears, and skin take in the rest of the scene: friends and teammates on the trail before and behind, trees shading boulder-strewn ground, sloping away to the sea on our right. Ocean waves drum unceasingly on the shore. A breeze flirts coyly, by turns cool and muggy, the tang of the tropics. The trail crosses a cliff, demanding full attention and enjoyment of the adventure and view. Then we hit the beach.
As feet push into the warm sand, the brain turns to teammates and to how I, as team leader, can affirm their good work and encourage work on gaps; to what we’d learned from research in the previous village and questions not fully answered; to the time and work remaining; to misunderstandings that had arisen with our guides; to how pleasant it was just to be here, putting feet to the Good News (Ro 10).
The path turns inland through grass over our heads, sea breeze blocked, sun more urgent in its affections. Many years before a teammate had nicked an eyeball on such grass… so many had come and gone from the survey team since! Banter back and forth as sweat prompted shifting of loads and thoughts of water and shade. Then lo and behold, a clear knee-deep river crossing and trees opposite! New faces popping up from here and there from the village to which we were headed, but little more than “Hello” from me, wanting to prolong the stillness.
Nothing better than dropping the pack and immersing fully into the water. The delicate balance of relaxing while resisting current and holding breath. The liquid world summons full consciousness as the normally thoughtless rhythm of breathing is halted. Time runs slowly to oxygen’s end, the thud of heartbeats marking its passing. The river, nearing its anonymization in the sea, has lost none of its joy and purpose; it too is fully present as it obeys its maker’s design.
And then I arise, feet finding purchase among the stones, lungs breathing deep, life’s ebb and flow renewing. It’s time for another village with a different language, time to connect with a new set of beings made by their Creator. The Living Word seeks to be incarnate through Scripture in their language. He is already present in Spirit, but his message is not yet clearly and fully expressed in their tongue.
