He hit the top of the mountain with a thud. Face down. Knees. A soft breathy weeping spread out from him, the only sound heard amidst the soft shh of the dewey fog falling around us.
Our breath still heavy and catching, I put my things down and walked over to him to lay my hand on his arm and pray. The rest of us gathered, soft chants to our Father of thankfulness and tears of joy.
We had summited.
The culmination of our own spiritual journeys married to the physical complexities of climbing the earth and conquering it with each step had brought us to a climax of sorts. An awakening and reckoning. We were all dying to something and the funeral started at the summit.
8 days. 50 miles. 8 tent sleeps. 5 towns.
It was the hardest physical challenge I had ever pursued, but it was the spiritual journey that made it all worth it.
When Raquel and I joined the all men’s team, we knew it would be a different experience. We were prepared to be challenged in a lot of ways but honestly we were excited. What does it look like to come in and support the men of our squad? When we prayed, I specifically heard, “This is a time for you to use your heart. Love them well.”
“My favorite thing to do in leadership,” I thought. “Thank you Lord.”
Aaron was the planner. He found a trek from Omalo to Shatili in Georgia, a less popular one, a good bit more challenging but promised beautiful views and some towns along the way for opportunities to share.
The team had prayed and gotten a smattering of things but the major theme was to brave the unknown, in unity and to go for the one. This month would be about pursuing each other and pursuing those in the distance, the ones out of the crowd.
We were excited.
We left the capital of Georgia on a minibus and then took a jeep – about 6 hours total. Getting to the trailhead meant driving on one of the top 10 most dangerous roads in the world. Pretty gnarly drive. My stomach dropped a good bit.
Our first stop was near a little town called Omalo. Shortly after starting the trek, we discovered we didn’t have enough cash on hand, which is a pretty big problem given we planned to be out for 9 days and there were 8 of us. We knew that meant less food and likely no physical lodging so even if we wanted a night in a guesthouse to rest and shower, we really couldn’t afford it.
Ok Lord. You’re going to have to take over.
We split our funds and realized we had about 10 lari each for food each day. That’s about $3. It meant one meal a day and a pretty basic one at that. Given the amount of physical exertion we’d be doing, it felt risky.
I’d heard stories before this about people being fed by the Lord. Food appearing out of nowhere, people walking up and providing, chance encounters, etc. And I believe it. But I’d never been in that kind of need before. I’ve always been fed.
This kind of dependence does something to you. When you have nothing to give and your credit cards are worthless in the wilderness, you have no choice. You have to open your hands to the heavens and lean on the promises from the bible.
Look at the birds of the air; they do not sow or reap or store away in barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not much more valuable they they. – Matthew 6: 26
Our first day trekking in Omalo brought an unexpected and delightful surprise.
We woke up to a foggy rain and hiked for about an hour up to upper Omalo where rock houses drift down steep hills and little plump old women hang laundry and pick herbs from the fields. The fog lazily lay in this little town in and out of mountain peaks creating a blue gray moodiness that felt like a Fleet Foxes song.
I loved it.
Suddenly we were right in the middle of it all and we heard English! A group of people were stacking rocks along a wall in the sprinkling rain. We said hello, exchanged pleasantries, and found out they were from the Czech Republic on a volunteer trip helping to move rocks to make way for the expansion of a church.
We all looked at each other. Smiled. We knew we had to stay.
I laughed as we began to lift the heavy rocks down the hill. How is it that Raquel and I end up on an all guys team trekking up a mountain and we decide to add on a little more manual labor just for fun. God is funny.
The labor was hard and dirty but it allowed for an intimate space to share with the group and show them our Christian brother and sisterhood up close.
Our stomachs started grumbling around 2 and I knew our one meal a day would be dinner so I tried to put it out of my mind. “I can fast, Lord. I know you’ll sustain me.”
Then, the leader of the group says, “come with me. we break for refreshment.”
He led us into a little rock house where a long table situated tight in a corner. We sat down expecting maybe water and some bread and were absolutely joy filled when we were presented with hot soup, bread, homemade wine, vegetables, cheese, and a smattering of salads made from traditional recipes. The table was full and colorful and it felt like a feast.
As the leader toasted us, he told us “something from above has brought you here” and “you are involved in doing holy work as you help with this church.”
I cried. “How is this my life?”
We would end up staying an extra day to finish the job. With our help they moved about 60% faster and we wanted to honor them by staying. “This is interruptibility,” I thought.
And we got two free meals and later a free hot shower. God sees us.
Our next day of trekking involved a free lift from some locals and brought us to Dartlo, another sleepy mountainside town – more quiet and desolate this time.
Our first night here was WET. It stormed and we only had the shelter of our tents as we were camping in a cow field near the water. We woke up to most of us being flooded and our water source shot as the river was filled with silt. It didn’t stop raining till mid morning, well after we would want to leave to continue our trek.
We checked the forecast for the next 5 days. All rain.
Cold, wet, and missing Omalo a bit we gathered to pray. Should we go back to Omalo where we know there is a food source and the potential for tree cover? There was ministry there. It’s close to a ride home if we run out of money. It guarantees we get back to the city on time for our meeting.
It’s comfortable.
The consensus of the team directed towards heading back. Our plan was to meet people in Dartlo that day and then sacrifice the rest of the trek due to weather and the potential for harsh conditions. Maybe it wasn’t safe. Everyone was wet. We looked pretty miserable. Maybe it just wasn’t caring for ourselves well.
I was unsettled. It hung on me like a sweater in summer. I knew something was off.
I gathered Jerome, the leader of the team, and Raquel, my co-lead and we pow wowed for about an hour praying and trying to figure out why this decision felt wrong when the team had seemed settled. Revisiting our original purpose for the trek, we remembered that God had not called us into comfort. He had called us into dependence and there was a spiritual journey he was asking us all to pursue. Why were we drawn to the easier route? Did we not believe He would care for us?
Still off balance, we reached out to our leadership team in the states for prayer. We needed support. It felt big enough to ask for them to seek God with us.
That night as we waited for their responses, we found a Shepards stall to camp under to try to get some extra shelter from the rain. “Like Mary and Joseph,” I laughed.
I told my testimony to the guys that night and it filled me with a renewed zeal and confidence in how the Lord cares for me. Truly, I felt the restored joy of my salvation just like the verse says.
That morning we met again and looked at the results from the leadership team. They pointed a little in one direction but were still vague. We sought the Lord again in prayer and realized, we had to do it. We had to keep moving. It would be hard, uncomfortable, and we would have to push, but it’s what he wanted. He had something for us.
As we approached the team there was a solemnity that held. Jerome would have to deliver the news that these guys had 5 more nights of this and some really hard trekking ahead. We were low on food and we were about to approach the part of the trek where there aren’t towns along the way. These guys woke up thinking we were heading back to Omalo safe and sound. We would be directing them differently.
We were nervous but we walked into it with boldness and confidence. The Lord had called for this flip and we were going to trust Him.
The guys were surprised and not everyone was totally on board. It took a minute. Well about 60 minutes to be exact – because one hour into the trek we met the Shepherds family and they had a feast for us.
I can’t go into every day and how we were fed but this would get LONG. I’ll just give you a list because it’s important that you know that just like the Israealites, God gave us manna from heaven. We didn’t go one day without eating. Why? Because our wandering meant something to Him. And more than that, WE mean something to Him. He takes care of us.
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Day one and two: Free meal with the Czechs while building the wall
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Day three: A free ride and a negotiated cheap meal from a local family
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Day four: Free watermelon, cookies, wine and coffee from a local family
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Day five: The shepherds meal – watermelon, bread, soup, MEAT, salads, cookies, coffee, beer, wine, cha cha
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Day six: The lone shepherd on the hill – boiled bread, vegetables, cheese, tea AND The meadows – boiled pasta noodles with local butter and cheese
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Day seven: My personal favorite: The shack that appeared out of nowhere in the fog – Khachapuri and potatoes and vegetables
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Day Eight: The free guesthouse meal from the jolliest host – Khachapuri, vegetables, soup, bread and cheese
I can’t really explain how loved and seen and cared for I felt in being fed each day. I was fed physically but I was also fed spiritually. There was plenty of time to engage with the guys, pour into them and love them in really simple ways like just asking them questions about how they felt, how they see God in their lives and what they were learning. Sometimes I was giving constructive feedback and wiping away tears, sometimes I was encouraging boldness, sometimes I was just listening. It was beautiful.
I believe that God was teaching me about dependence emotionally, spiritually and physically. He wanted my full attention and He wanted me to know that everything i could do in my own Lindsey-ness was only because He was fueling me. He had me right where he wanted me.
I needed Him to help me hike that mountain, I needed Him to speak to me so I could pour into the guys and I needed Him to actually feed me. I needed Him to keep me warm and dry. I needed Him to heal my knees. I needed Him to remind me that He loves me and I’m worth something and I’m in leadership for a reason.
I needed my Father.
When we finally summited the mountain, I couldn’t believe it. It was the hardest physical challenge of my life. Above the tree line and above the green line we were so high that only rocks and fog remained. It looked like another planet. Otherworldly.
After praying for Aaron and weeping all together as a team, Jacken stood up and prayed for leadership honoring us for making the hard decision to keep moving. Full circle. They could now see that the Lord had this for us all along and we almost missed it.
As an Ebenezer of sorts, Justin suggested we all pick up a rock representing something the Lord had asked us to die to and we throw it down the mountain. Pride, comparison, lack of faith, and death to individuality were among the things we threw. For me?
I will no longer look to anything other than the Lord to sustain me. Simply put, my strength comes from Him. And this trek would be the most physical evidence of that that I can think of, his miracles at play. It wasn’t a cloud or fiery pillar, but it was a full belly, the joy in my spirit and the smiles of local Georgians prayed over by a group of dirty Americans.
That Ebenezer would become the gravestone for all of us leaving behind things the Lord wanted to shed. Joyful, exhausted and hopeful , we began the long descent. The fog wouldn’t lift that entire day. We could only see right in front of us and the cold wet mist made our feet and hands numb. Little icicles hung on our eyelashes. Jerome put a playlist on to mirror the moody atmosphere and the contemplation on our hearts.
“It’s like funeral music,” Aaron said. We all smirked.
A funeral indeed. I quickly remembered a prophetic word Josiah had given us for this month. “It is not death to die,” he said.
And so it was. As we shed this skin, we begin rebirth again and again with Him. He is faithful to bring us into that “new creation” continually, not just once.
EPILOGUE
As we descended the mountain, the fog was so thick it felt daunting. Were we even going the right way? My knees and calves ached in ways I had never known. I held my breath to keep from grunting as the weight of my pack impacted the rock on the way down. My feet were wet and blisters had started to form. I was cold. I was tired. I was hungry.
Aaron has prepared us that there would be nothing between here and our ending destination the next day. We likely wouldn’t see a soul.
We thought it would be a quick jaunt to our campsite but the descent would last another 4 hours. Like little ants, we trotted down the hill in rhythm just happy to be on our way out.
After about an hour and a half I started to feel anger creep in. How Israelite of me! I had already forgotten my Father’s goodness.
I kicked myself a bit for that and started praying. I prayed in quiet for the rest of the time. About 3 hours. I prayed simply, “Jesus, you are my strength. I’m tired. I’m cold. I’m hungry. Please provide for us or give us the joy and strength to go without.”
Just for fun I asked specifically for a fire, a shelter and some dinner.
Just for fun.
Just when I literally thought I would ask the team if we could just stop and camp right where we were and go without dinner that day (even though we had exerted more physical exercise than any other day and were running on walnuts) we saw a little wooden sign pointing to border control.
Thinking the guard post would let us in to warm ourselves, I smiled and greeted them. They didn’t.
As we began to keep walking, one of them said, “There’s a cafe 100 meters from here with tea.”
We cheered. Tea would be a little warmth.
As we approached this little shack in the middle of NOWHERE, we saw a few tents pitched and a little smoke coming out of the roof.
“Lord, did you literally answer my exact prayer out here?”
Tired and in unbelief, I wept. We walked into a tiny dirt floored shack with a wood burning stove and a small camp burner. A woman named Lali offered us warm coffee, tea and Khachapuri, potatoes and vegetables. She let us warm our feet by the fire and I bought some local wool socks she had knit to replace my wet ones.
A fire, a meal and some shelter.
He hears us.
