Stumbling Through the Woods

On Diversity, Equity & Inclusion

Photo by Jr Korpa on Unsplash

It was the last night of our week-long camp.

The path back to the main lodge was fraught with rises and drops, steps and holes, and one could easily turn an ankle. For this reason, and because it was dark, we counseled the campers to always keep their flashlights handy. I had forgotten mine.

“Great job,” I chided myself. “What kind of a leader are you?”

As I looked around to gather items people left behind, I noticed that the last person was leaving the area. I was very close to being left in complete darkness. Hurriedly grabbing an abandoned sweatshirt, I walked toward the bobbing lights in front of me, headed up the hill. They set a quick pace.

My feet kept losing their footing as I struggled to keep the moving lights in view. They did not light the path ahead of me; they merely pointed the direction I was to travel. We were on rough terrain and I had to navigate that, but the lights provided a point to keep my eye on. Without them, it would take some time to approximate my location, determine the correct way to the main part of camp, and feel my way forward. As I stumbled ahead, hitting the unevenness of the ground with the weeds whipping across my legs, I began to feel a bit frantic about getting lost in the darkness. It was then that the perfection of the situation swept over me. This was life.

Life is sometimes stumbling in the darkness, following small lights set before me as guides, breadcrumbs toward a safe place, toward truth. Keeping those lights in view — keeping my eyes focused on them — becomes important if I do not want to maneuver in darkness. The road may be uneven and the path a struggle, but those lights point the way, provide guidance and direction, show a sure course. Questions came to mind.

What were the lights in my life that were guiding me right now?

How could I “keep up” with them?

How could I see them more clearly, utilize them to a greater extent?

In that moment, I was thankful for so many lessons I had learned that week.

When we approached the lodge, the porch light illuminated the path perfectly. I no longer needed the small lights the campers were holding in their hands as they talked and laughed. Those bouncing lights were nothing in comparison to the flood the lodge provided.

Inside the building a hundred people strong sat enjoying each other’s company. They were from different backgrounds, at different places in life, with individual likes and dislikes, strengths and weaknesses. But none of that mattered.

We had organized a camp experience for all of them, but more importantly, we had considered each of them. We had attempted to meet everyone where they were, and we had invited them to do the same: to see, support, work to understand, and love.

Some had their arms around each other, and some just sat together. No one looked like they were alone, and that was always gratifying for me to see. Some were laughing, and some were still teary from sharing tender thoughts at that evening’s meeting. Some were working to serve a snack, and some were busily writing in journals or playing games.

And it was one of the most beautiful sights I had ever seen.

I stood at the edge of the darkness and wept, grateful for the glimpse I had been given, and thankful for the direction I was headed. And then I stepped into the light.