135-When Thunder Claps and Guy Lines Fail...

Well, we’re in it now I thought as the sound of water drops on the thin blue fly that covered my hammock intensified.  I looked at my phone which, in our location was little more than a heavy timepiece with photos—6am.   I hurriedly rolled from my hammock half dressed, slipped on my Crocs and ran to my pack, hopping over the poison ivy like Super Mario in a nearly mastered level of gameplay.  In a couple of quick minutes Les and I were able to cover the common area and pull our food bag which hung from a tree twenty yards downwind.  I headed back to bed to see what kind of storm lurked and started reviewing photos from the previous day in hopes the rain would dissipate quickly.  Disconnected from the world, deep on the Sheltowee Trace Trail we had only our five senses to rely upon when it came to what decision we made next… breakfast!  The smell of those freshly cooked pancakes, butter encrusted edges and golden centers topped in pure maple syrup took our minds off of the steady rain that marked our journey with a big, fat, red ‘FAIL’ stamp.  Or at least it felt like that when we collectively decided to turn back to the way in which we came.

The trail back to the Indian Staircase traveled more quickly than its maiden voyage for this group of men, landing us on the ridgeline high above the valley floor across from the staircase with a hopeful excitement for more adventure, instead of disappointment that could have easily settled in had we allowed.  Now that we were closer to our exit to normal life, roads, and backwoods civilization (and sat on top of a ridge with a view), we could check the weather—30mph wind gusts from SSW accompanying severe thunderstorms arriving at 11pm.  Wonderful, more rain, the sarcasm ran through my blood; but you can’t let that get you down!  “Let’s have a look at where we are” I said, pulling the compass out from its waterproof Ziplock and turning the dial to SSW.  As I began to give some instruction on dropping our group shelter, which is nothing more than a 15’x15’ nylon sheet with grommeted corners, all the way to the ground on the side facing the wind and getting our packs under it with space for cooking dinner, the group seemed optimistic as well.  So much so, they were ready for a rappel and climb before the storm hit us head-on.

Lightning lit up the ridge just to our SE and we knew it was time to go.  As a team we had all hands on the rope set up in a 2-1 pulley system, so we could quickly pull Herb up the wall to get him out and us moving back toward camp as fast as possible… the weather app lied again on the time of this storm!  We returned to our camp in time to hunker down under our fly and begin to get dinner going—10:30pm.  There were 2 fronts that hit us, winds so strong we were concerned about two very real dangers at that moment—the fly ripping out of the ground and our hands that desperately clung to it, and a tree falling on our heads.  In between the deep rumbles the sky lit up like a shorted-out strobe light intermittently finding its power source, illuminating the entire woods and sky revealing the power of the wind testing our taut-line hitches that held our individual hammock flies in place.  Only one fly tore from its fine, nylon lines and wrapped itself around a tree, the saving hope from it being lost forever over the cliff that lie in the black night fifty yards away.  It’s easy to pray in moments like this, and we spent the next couple of hours sharing our faith stories and praying for one another over thanksgiving dinner. 

The morning came with a welcoming sunrise, pushing the remaining clouds from the valley floor, and the flooded sandy trails soaking up the puddles as if watching a timelapse video.  It aways comes—the sunrise that is—“Through YHVH’s mercies we are not consumed, because His compassions fail not.  They are new every morning; great is Your faithfulness.  ‘YHVH is my portion,’ says my soul, ‘Therefore I hope in Him!’” Lamentations 3:22-24 speaks my point of all this quite nicely.  When it storms, literally dropping massive drops and hammering you with huge wind gusts, what do we do?  We find shelter and wait, and in some cases, we pray harder than normal.  The peace that comes with the warmth of the sun kissing your face goes beyond words for me because it reminds me that my Creator, the Holy One deserving of every ounce of energy I could ever possess—He sees me, loves me, and is still in control.  Nature is the physical world around us that illustrates the spiritual world that only our spirit can capture.  Jesus spoke of storms, heck, He even calmed them to reveal His authority, and He hasn’t changed one bit since He walked this physical earth as a man.  He sees the storm you may be hunkered down in, loves you to pieces, and is as faithful as the sun that rises each day; right on time and without that fat, red 'FAIL' stamp.

-Matt