Divine Appointment

A couple of weeks ago, I went for a hike along the Will Abell Memorial Trail at Arrowhead Ridge near Lake Arrowhead.

OK, correction...I attempted to go for a hike along the Will Abell Memorial Trail. Who knows what trails I actually ended up on. Despite the apparently clear-as-day trailhead signs and a handful of people trying to give me directions, I made three unsuccessful attempts at hitting the Abell trail that was supposed to lead up to a beautiful vista.

On my first try, I saw this young couple headed toward what I thought was the trailhead and started to follow them for two reasons. One, I didn't want to get lost. And two, if there was a bear, at least I would be one of three menu options.

I had to run back to the car for something, and by the time I got back, I'd lost sight of them. Then, I saw them in the distance headed up the mountain and decided I could catch up by skipping the first part of the trail and running straight up, hurdling over logs, sustaining a nice deep scratch on my leg in the process. When I got to where I thought I'd spotted them, they were nowhere in sight.

I decided to go back to the parking lot and try it again. A man with a French bulldog got out of his car, looking like he might be about to hike the trail with his pooch.

I asked, "Have you hiked this trail before?"

"Yes, a lot."

"Is it OK to hike alone?"

"Are you worried about getting kidnapped or bears?"

I hadn't even considered the kidnapping possibility, but now that he mentioned it...

"Bears," I responded.

"Oh, we've hiked it a lot, and the only time we've had any trouble was when we got chased by some coyotes...but that was close to sunset."

That last part didn't put me at ease.

He told me to keep right for the trail. That's where I'd gone wrong the first time.

I headed up into the towering pine trees watching for a trail that veered right. I couldn't forget the man asking if I was afraid of being kidnapped. Is he gonna put Frenchie in the car and come kidnap me?

I went right as far as I could, and there was definitely no vista point as advertised. Once again, wrong trail.

I descended for the second time, went straight to my car, pulled up my GPS, and started driving to Hortencia's restaurant, a dinner spot that would afford me a guaranteed view with no chance of my getting lost.

As I started to leave the parking lot, I saw this young family starting up a wide paved path--a dad and three kids along with their dog Flash. I decided to try one more time.

I asked the dad about the elusive Will Abell trail, lamenting that this would be my third "at bat." He told me when I got up the hill to go to the left. Not trying to throw anyone under the bus, but someone in this scenario was not fully clear on the meaning of "left" and "right."

So, left I went. And ended up in someone's driveway. A heavily wooded driveway. But a driveway nonetheless.

This nice family saw me coming back down and asked about the hike. I told them where I'd ended up, and the dad, amused, said, "Yeah, that's someone's backyard."

This time, having surmised that the woman he was giving directions to was challenged in the worst way, he pointed directly to a trail above that seemed to circle up into the trees and said, "That's where you want to go."

Like a dog running for a bone, I immediately began scrambling straight up. I created my own route through trees and underbrush to where he pointed, not willing to stumble onto yet another circuitous path away from my destination or into someone's living room. For a couple of days, the pine resin remained on my fingers from grabbing onto pine branches to help hoist myself up the steep hill, slipping and sliding in my cross trainers that offered as much traction as a greased skillet.

I hiked the trail for a while, never seeing another soul. When I heard what sounded like a low growl, I decided the rumored vista just wasn't worth the trouble and took off running back down the mountain. Was it my sought-after Will Abell Trail? I have no idea. I just know I won't be attempting that trail again without a sherpa.

I jumped in my car and headed off to Hortencia's.

The view from my table did not disappoint. I looked out over the mountains and the valley below feeling grateful for my day in nature and now for good food enjoyed against this panoramic backdrop.

As I was eating, I heard the man at the table behind me say a blessing over their food. It was a beautiful, heartfelt prayer. I wanted to turn around and tell him his prayer blessed me. Instead, I just kept eating.

Then I heard one of the two ladies at the table crying. I could tell she was talking about having lost someone she loved. I couldn't stay in my chair. I had to say something.

I walked over to their table and said, "I'm sorry, I promise I was not eavesdropping, but I heard your prayer, sir, and it blessed me. It was a beautiful prayer."

I turned to the lady who had been crying
"And ma'am, again, I wasn't eavesdropping, but I couldn't help but hear that you've lost someone you love, and I just want to tell you — God loves you and he sees you."

Her eyes filled with tears. She responded, "I lost my daughter last year."

Two hearts immediately connected in a way no one ever wants to be able to connect.

We hugged and cried.

I told her, “It doesn’t seem like it, but it is possible to have joy again, even after losing a child.”

She responded, "My daughter's name was Joy."

More tears.

We talked a few more minutes, then I excused myself to my table.

They came over to say goodbye when they were ready to leave. We hugged again, and I sat back down. After a few minutes and hitting level 205 out of 5000 on the WordScapes game on my phone, I asked for the check.

"That man paid for your dinner," said the server.

The phrase "divine appointment" comes to mind. Had I driven to Hortencia's after my first, second, or even third attempt at finding that imaginary trail, I would have missed meeting Joy's mom. Following try number four was the right time. Four tries was just the right number.

Dear God, I don't understand why you seem to nudge us to act in certain ways at certain times, leading us to encounters that can only be described as divine appointments. And at other times, you seem uninvolved, allowing the worst losses and pain to break our hearts. I don't understand. And yet...I continue to believe you are good and loving and present. You are WITH us. You keep showing up. Mostly through people. The balm of human compassion on a hurting soul quells, at least for a time, the theological quandaries that keep us in constant pursuit of answers to questions too big, too hard, too mysterious. Mystery. That is who you are. Knowable. Intimate. And yet, mysterious. Let our hearts find peace...find rest...find strength...find joy..even in the mystery.

Amen.