The Long Walk

“I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith.” 2 Timothy 4:7

I wear a step-counter on my wrist practically every day. I even wear it to bed each night because it’s pretty smart and tracks my sleep, including wakeful times and sleepy times. My daily goal is 10,000 steps, which is about 5 five miles of walking. On a typical work day, I crush this goal. My job requires me to be moving every twenty-minutes or so and often I cover the distance of my building, end-to-end, four or five times every day. On the weekends, I try to take a walk around the neighborhood or around a near-by golf-course with a friend. My trusty-rusty step-counter recording each literal step.

Another perk to my step-counter is that it documents these steps. I can look back through my history and witness my busiest (and laziest) days. It’s an abstract diary of my life. Looking back I can denote days and cross-reference my physical calendar to remember what happened to cause such devoted step-taking. One such day--a 20,000 step day-- is blazed into my memory like a flash to my retina...

Crystal Peaks Youth Ranch is located in the middle of the high-desert of Oregon, with palatial views of the Cascade Mountain Range and the Three Sisters, rolling pastures speckled with cattle and hay-fields for as far as the eye can see. At Crystal Peaks the mission is multifaceted, to quote their website: “Crystal Peaks Youth Ranch exists to Rescue the Equine, Mentor the Child, offer Hope for the Family and Empower the Ministry.”

From the moment you pull into the parking lot, there’s something different about this place. It’s almost palpable. There’s a quiet calm, a peace that is unique and hard to describe. Since it’s located in a defunct cinder pit, you always seem to be walking uphill at Crystal Peaks, which of course is physically impossible, but like life, we always seem to focus on the difficulties and coast through the ease. So, up the gravel driveway you walk, flanked by two paddocks containing dozens of attentive equine beasts, huge mammoth animals with swishing tails and interactive ears that follow your every move. Most seem content to stand in one place, shifting weight from four legs to three, cocking one knee. If you happen to be lucky enough to gain the attention of one of these majestic creatures, they will saunter toward you as if there is nothing else in the whole to be done, as they mentally ascertain the advantages to granting you the honor of an appointment. These beauties will casually loll their giant head over the split-rail fence, nostrils breathing you in, to accept your offer of a forehead scratch, or a mane pat, or a jaw scrub, and then just as easily they meander away to slop a few mouthfuls of water from the trough, or pull a mouthful of grass and chew it lazilily, swatting away flies with long, luxurious tails.

Our church’s high school youth group has had the privilege of spending a couple weeks serving CPYR in years past. And, I have had the honor to accompany them as a chaperone. While at Crystal Peaks, our group has dug up rocks (and by rocks I mean boulders), hauled dirt, bucked hay, dug up thistles, weed-wacked, washed windows, cleaned out a disgusting refrigerator, folded t-shirts, removed old fencing, put up new fencing, scooped horse poop, pulled weeds, pulled weeds and pulled weeds. Oh, and did I mention pulling weeds? It is physical labor at its most-physical-ist. And these amazing teenagers dig in and get job done without (much) complaint. Their only reward? To jump in a scummy, sludgy, murky pond at the end of the last day, fully clothed. And. They. Love it. (The pond, by the way, is home for a 4-foot sturgeon named Bruce, who nobody knows how he got there.)

Now, the property of Crystal Peaks is massive and stretches from one side of the country-highway to the other. When our group would spend a day there, it was not unusual for us to traverse from one side of the property near the barn, arena and paddocks, down the long (downhill) driveway, across the highway to the opposite extreme orchard and blueberry patch, crossing fields and pastures while dodging showers from the expansive sprinkler system jettisoning gallons of water a minute... and then back again. If we required a restroom, it was a 5-minute walk. If we left something in the car, it was 10 minutes and if we had to head back to the barn it was a 15 minute trip, one-way. However, often we were in the presence of a Kubota (a small vehicle like a golf-cart on steroids, with a much better fashion sense). If one of our youth, or a leader needed to head back “across the street” for whatever reason, we were able to jump aboard the Kubota (and load up another three or four kids because, hey, they’re kids and it’s more fun to ride a Kubota than pull weeds for five hours straight) and quickly return to the barn.

As one of the adults in the group, I resolved to walk whenever the opportunity arose. I wanted the kids to have the adventure of riding in the Kubota (we’re city-slickers, so this isn’t an opportunity they get very often) or in the back of a pick-up truck. I wanted them to have the community and camaraderie of their peers and to bond, fusing their relationship with one another. And… I know that walking is good for me so why not take this opportunity for myself, in an absolutely picturesque haven, to get in a few extra steps.

At the end of our trip, we had a “debriefing”. We shared with one another moments that were fun or exciting or unexpected or funny or inspirational or just plain awesome. We shared about connections we had made with one another and with the staff of the ranch. We shared how we had seen God at work and how many bug-bites we had. We shared things that made us laugh, things that made us cry, things that touched our heart and we shared--universally--what a special place Crystal Peaks Youth Ranch is.

When it was my turn to share, I had a lump in my throat. The kids (and leaders) in this group know me well and they know that I’m prone to getting teary eyed, so I’m sure it was no big deal to them, but I felt my eyes mist over and my voice catch. And then I told them what I realized as I walked, on the last day, back from the blueberry patch to the barn…

I had watched them load up in the Kubotas pulling little trailers, some hitched a ride in the back of a pick up and some walked along with me, ahead of me, beside me and behind me. A half-dozen little pods of humanity, a half-dozen cliques, communities created by happenstance. Collectively, but dividedly journeying to the same destination. The barn. Guess what? We all ended up at the barn. Regardless of our mode of transportation, we all made it to the same place. We had taken different paths. We had moved along with different people, but we all made it to the barn. Some of us were happy to be done with such a hard day’s work. Some of us were sad at the prospect of leaving an amazing place. Some of us were hungry, sore, sunburned, tired, inspired, we landed all over the emotional-spectrum. But… We all ended up at the same place. Our destination was achieved.

How much is this like life? How much do we, as individuals, diverge in our beliefs, opinions and experiences? How many of us take the safe road while others take the road of danger? How often do we make choices that cause our up-hill climb to be easy or a literal-tooth-and-nail conquest? We all journey differently but… the finish line is the finish line. We all get there in one way or another. It doesn’t make one way right or wrong. I wasn't wrong or right to take the long walk, uphill to the barn. The kids weren’t wrong or right to ride in the Kubota or the truck or trudge along with me. We all got there. We all completed the task. We all crossed the finish line.

Well done, good and faithful servants!