The Blessing of the Headlamps

We have now reached one day before we leave for the Appalachian Trail. And I am currently sitting in our dining room (as I have been all day, every day. All. Day. Every. Day.) surrounded by gear. First aid, electronics, water filters, quick-dry towels, micro spikes, and a small pile of four headlamps.

These headlamps are taking on a new significance for me this evening.

Everything has felt like such a mad rush over the past two weeks. I finished my call with the incredible youth of the First Presbyterian Church of Libertyville. I felt like my heart was splitting in two; saying goodbye felt more bitter than bittersweet. But I jumped immediately into two weeks of prep and packing.

My mom has been to my house a half dozen times, mostly to help me with our fifteen resupply boxes. (Some weigh more than my eight year-old. Don’t ask how we’re fitting all of it into our packs. That’s a worry for another day). The days have been going too quickly and there is more to do than can fit into my days. Matthew has been working insane hours, too. Not only is he preparing to leave his job for five months, he also had to file our taxes, prep quarterly tax payments, and organize the home, insurance(s), finances, and more for our five months away. Add to all of this was a lot of intense planning for homeschooling. (more on that another day – maybe when we figure out what we are actually doing) We definitely divide and conquer in this household. Though these days it has felt like very few things have been conquered.

It has just felt like one long cram session.

• “Can I get to REI to make returns and buy a dozen small items in the 55 minutes before I need to pick up Amelia at school because she has to clean out her locker and cannot carry everything on the bus while Matthew cleans the basement so Amelia can have a friend come for a sleepover?”
• “If Matthew is doing our taxes while he is sitting at the church can I digitize and have him print important documents before I need to leave to shop for pants for the girls so we can get back for a dinner made of the random leftovers in our refrigerator so we can all get to Ash Wednesday service?”
• “If we need to leave to bring Penny to her new family in 20 minutes can I quickly type out super detailed instructions on how to care for our dog while Matthew packs up all the frozen smoked salmon and olive oil to bring to this unsuspecting family, along with some houseplants, so that this poor family knows how neurotic and weird our dog is?”
• “Can I wash, dry, and fold five loads of laundry on our last day at the house while packing, cleaning, consoling, organizing, and processing the reality of our departure tomorrow morning?”

My last two weeks have been one long run-on sentence, sprinkled with a fair dose of panic and a racing heartbeat. The new Garmin watch I have tells me just how fast my heart is going. It’s 88 beats/minute right now. This afternoon it was 97…

It’s a race to the trail.

But that isn’t really what this entire journey is about. I cannot wait until the rush, rush, rush ends so we can start to prepare our hearts for what lies ahead. And while I wish that has been our focus over these past two weeks, I think there is roughly 24 hours to breathe and process before our boots hit the trail.

We know why we are doing this. We know why we are taking this journey. We know why we have wanted this for so long. I am hoping that we are now able to rest in that assurance.

So, back to the headlamps.

This morning Matthew’s incredible congregation at Grace Lutheran Church in Libertyville sent us out with prayers, blessings, and a lovely reception. Matthew preached a great sermon about how journeying into the wilderness can leave us hungry, needy, and tempted. It is Lent after all. So we are challenged in this season to choose better than all that tempts us. Instead God calls us to something else entirely. In the words of John Bell, from the Iona Community, in the song The Summons.

Will you leave yourself behind if I but call your name?
Will you care for cruel and kind and never be the same?
Will you risk the hostile stare should your life attract or scare?
Will you let me answer prayer in you and you in me?

So we are going. The trail has summoned us, and we are stepping out in faith that it has much to teach us.

While singing the verses of that song, Matthew and his incredible Sabbatical team offered us blessings and prayers. One person read from the writings about God and nature by theologian Howard Thurman. Then they presented us with our headlamps. And they blessed them.

The light that will lead us safely in the darkness of a campsite, or safely to a water source (or a privy). The light that will allow us to safely prepare our lodgings and settle down for a night’s rest. The light that will allow our path to be illuminated when we cannot see.

Jesus spoke to the people again, saying, “I am the light of the world. Whoever follows me won’t walk in darkness but will have the light of life.” (John 8:12)

So thank you, Grace Lutheran Church, for your prayers and support. Thank you for blessing the light that we bring with us. We will carry all of you in our hearts over these next five months and so look forward to our reunion in August.

And, thanks for the cookies and perfectly perfect reception.