SANDY SHIPMAN
Writer.
Selah Companion.

“The people who walk in darkness will see a great light. Those who live in a dark land, the light will shine on them.”

Isaiah 9:2

It’s pitch black in Arches National Park. Silent, except for the sound of our hiking boots and poles striking the earth. Our two headlamps light the ten feet of trail in front of us. We have no idea what surrounds us, having never been in the park before this morning. As we trek upward, we see strings of headlamps, hopefully giving the general direction of the climb. We become aware of hikers behind us starting to pass or ahead of us as we pass. Then, silence again. We are alone. The trail turns to giant granite rock with no path to follow, and we scan the distance with our headlamps, hoping to catch sight of the park cairns showing the way. Hike and scan, shift my headlamp from directly before me to twenty feet or more ahead. We are thankful for each other’s comfort.

Slowly, the sky lightens, and we become aware of the looming black walls around us. Lighter still, and we think we see the way. We see a group of headlamps ahead and follow, all in the wrong direction. I turn on my AllTrails app to pick up the trail, and we head back down and around a rock formation, correcting. We’ve lost time. The sky is dark blue now, and the inky canyon walls show some features, all in black and gray. The trail is easier to follow, the cairns seen. A half mile more, and I switch off my headlamp. We identify bushes and trees in the early light; the color of the canyon walls becomes dark orange. I am thankful it is lighter when we traverse The Ledge, but I know we have missed the most beautiful part of the dawn. We round the final corner, and canyon walls still shade the mammoth Delicate Arch. We pick a spot on a giant rock and wait for the sun to rise.

As we sip coffee and eat snacks, we notice the details of the walls around us. Caves and sedimentary layers and deep chasms all around. Further away are more canyon walls and some mountains behind that. The valley floors look green.

As more light comes in, it’s as if someone has turned on the HDTV; the colors become vivid, and the detail becomes sharp. Blue mountains in the distance, we can see birds in the bushes and trees, and even more layers of color in the surrounding walls. The Arch is banded with white, salmon, and orange. A crow comes to visit and distract us.

Suddenly, the sun rises from behind the cliffs and commands our attention. Everything the sun touches becomes clear, focused, colorful, vibrant. We discern the different colors of grasses, hills, and hummocks in the valley. The bowl below us now has a bottom we can see; it takes away some of the fear of the edge. We take pictures, then pause and marvel at the warmth and beauty of the sun. We sit perfectly still and breathe in grandeur. We are thankful.

As we head down, we are lighter. Our steps are clear; now, the trail is easily followed. Families scamper wide across the granite rocks, playing where we trudged close together. We laugh at the spot where we remember our wrong turn. No one would make that mistake in the light. There are gorgeous spots on the trail that we missed in the dark. We can see for miles across the park. A couple on their way up asks us how much further. Now, we know and can answer because of light.

“I have come that you may have life, and have it to the full,” says Jesus.

* * *

The experience feels like the tough times I’ve had, even now, when everything around me is dark, hard, and silent. All it seems I have is my headlamp trying to see the Cairns. I strive and struggle and lose my way.  With only artificial light, it’s hard, laborious, and scary. I try tapping into the Light of the World to clarify everything. I pray, I meditate, I read. I try to use everything I know about Love to find the path. It remains dark and confusing. I can’t make the sunrise.

I wait. And I remember.

On that dark and cold morning, I remember the comfort of my husband next to me. Of being two in the dark and not one. Lost and found together. Sharing coffee and the wait. Basking in the glory of the sun. What seemed important wasthe light and finding our way. But what mattered most was being together.

And I am comforted that the Son is with me. In the darkness, the hard, the cold, and the wait. What matters is being together. Yes, Advent is about waiting. But we do not wait alone.

“Surely I am with you always, to the very end of the age.”

Matthew 28:20