I was heading along a wide dirt road late one evening in June. The air was still all around me, but the rich reds and greens in the surrounding terrain that had once been so vibrant now had become a dull blue-grey. Looking up, it was obvious why: Directly overhead was a tormented atmosphere, boiling, fuming and frothing. It was almost as if the sky was having a very bad stomachache, the thick clouds rolling & swelling with the occasional plume billowing outwards in an ominous, sooty jet. Soon, those clouds would vomit their unsettling contents on the unfortunate souls caught between heaven and earth, and all who were looking for escape would be wasting their time trying to avoid the inevitable. I knew that I had to make camp quickly, or else enjoy the pleasantries of being drenched to the bone in sky vomit as I walked along that serene road, where the whole world was perfectly calm and the only sound to be heard was the soft crunch crunch of gravel beneath my boots. Then it came. Storm wind. It is unmistakeable: a soft, yet forceful breeze that trickles through the trees, seeping into the forest leaving no leaf unturned. These clouds meant business. Thankfully, so did I.
Just around the bend in this road I had been hiking along would be my planned campsite. I knew it well, for I spent a couple weeks in the very spot almost a full year earlier. There would be no problem finding an appropriate spot to run a ridgeline & toss my tarp over a nice, soft and flat bit of duff, making my sleep that night rather comfortable. Or so I thought.
It was interesting to see what had changed in the nine months I had been away from that location. Spots in the previous August that had been bone dry were now filled with pools of water. A wooden, makeshift toilet had been erected by some previous individual right in the middle of the area's best camping site. Beer cans, fire pits and lengths of frayed nylon rope were strewn randomly about. It made me sad to see that my expectations of the site and the reality of the very same place did not fit together so well. Alas! My poor, little camping spot... And just then, a chunk of the mountain right across the river to the east began to crash its way down the rocky slopes towards me. Holy crap.
I never saw where the boulder stopped, but it sure did make a huge bang at the end. In fact, I never really even saw the boulder slide down the mountain at all: by now, the queasy clouds had become so engorged that the tips of the treetops above me were now licking those wispy furls of rage. Maybe it had been lightening. I didn't have time to investigate. The echoing rumbles reminded me that camp had to be set up quickly, so I scouted for a grouping of trees that would serve as good anchors, strung my ridgeline & secured my tarp. I was in for a wonderful surprise when I spread out the groundsheet that I had selected for this trip, for to my dismay, the beautiful stretch of polyethylene had three gaping holes torn into it. What luck. Nonetheless, it would have to do.
With the foundations of my shelter set, and with my food bags dangling between a couple of trees off in the distance, I crawled under my burnt-orange scout tarp, wormed my way into my sleeping bag and turned off my headlamp. Some more boulders crashed down the hillside no more than 50 metres to my left as the dark clouds suffocated the remaining light that evening. Stillness ensued after the rumbling echoes came to rest. Then, Pat! The storm's first raindrop exploded on the surface of my tarp. The rest of the kamikaze battalion arrived not much later, plastering my tarp with their little bodies made of cloud vomit. A dazzling flash popped over Island Ridge, to my right. The storm had begun.
I really enjoy sleeping in the rain—so long as I'm not getting wet. Thankfully, the site I chose & the angle of my tarp kept me rather dehumidified. A smile crept over my face as I lay thee, closing my eyes in expectation of a pleasant, restful sleep, being lulled to dreamland by the pattering of many suicidal soldiers exploding on the roof of my makeshift home. It was wonderful. I even began to hear the delightful bolero by a couple violinists performing in concert just for me. Then I crapped my pants as one of those musicians landed on my face and proceeded to suck the blood right out of me.
It must've been due to my irresistible good looks (or perhaps, since we were in the middle of the bush, it was more out of sheer desperation) that she went and told all of her friends that a hot, available man was lying all alone on the forest floor, just waiting to have the blood sucked right out of him in exchange for a nice performance on the violin. It must've been, for in no time at all, I was literally crawling with the little vampiric violinists (for all mosquitoes that harvest blood are female, didn't you know? It's true!) as they played their horror-inducing symphony throughout the storm-filled night.
I think I finally managed to dose off an hour before sunrise, with nothing but a pair of nostrils sticking out of a twoonie-sized hole from the cinched-up end of my sleeping bag.
Things sometimes don't go the way we expect them to. Life—or rather, God—has thrown me a curve ball in the past few weeks. It makes no sense for me to complain or to fight against it. I don't want to end up being slowly digested in a whale stomach for a weekend, eventually being puked up on some foreign shore. Nevertheless, the curve ball is always difficult to deal with. What does He want from me right now? Complete financial reliance on Him. Why? I've no flipping idea. Perhaps, to give me the freedom to minister & serve Him when and where He wants me to. Is it scary? Heck yes. As scary as utter social Castigation. Nonetheless, He is Lord; and though He slay me, yet will I trust Him. I need to. I need to, because He is God. Therefore, I will wait on Him and allow Him to lead me along His set path.
Man, faith is a freaking scary thing.
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