The Detour

Some of the road trips I've made to Tennessee over the last 20 plus years to visit my family stand out in my mind more than others. Like the trip at Christmas during the time we lived in Florida when Meghann was seven months old, Brad was two and Matt was five ... 14 hours in a car with three kiddos in car seats was not the most fun road trip ever for sure. Or the trip with a friend and her two children when Brad dropped his pants at the rest stop and peed in the grass rather than inside in the restroom. Or the trip with my children after my mom passed away. Or the trip when Mom rode back to Kansas with us, and the air conditioner stopped working on my van. Or the trip when I let Matt drive us through Nashville, and I thought I'd have a heart attack with him behind the wheel. But there's one trip in particular that's been on my mind today, and that's the trip when there was such extensive flooding in St. Louis that we had to take an entirely different route from Chattanooga to Kansas City. The detour tacked on an extra three hours to our drive for two reasons ... 1) we had never traveled the route before, and the detour signs were difficult to follow, and 2) we got lost a few times. That was the trip when I decided detours were bad, bad, bad things and should be avoided whenever possible.

I went to bed really, really, really late last night ... actually, it was this morning rather than last night, so when I woke up really, really, really early and couldn't go back to sleep, I decided to go for a bike ride while it was still relatively cool outside. I haven't been riding my bike this summer, and the moment I pedaled out of my garage, I said to myself, "I should have been doing this all summer ... I love riding my bike." I flew down the trail following the route I always rode last year, not thinking about the fact that there have been signs in place for a week or longer indicating a detour on the trail because of road construction. I groaned as the thought of the infamous detour drive from Tennessee coursed through my mind, and I contemplated turning around and going back home when the big orange detour sign appeared before me. "Don't be stupid," I said out loud. "You've barely started riding ... be brave and keep going. It's just a detour, that's all ... just a little detour. It will be an adventure ... be brave and ride on."

For the first few minutes, all was well ... the detour took me along a road that was flat, and pedaling was a breeze. I noticed the path began to incline a bit, but I was still able to manage the slight climb easily and quickly. I loved the feel of the wind on my face as I quickly coasted down the other side of the incline, picking up a lot of speed as my descent became faster. I was about halfway down the hill when I realized something ... it was much steeper on the downhill side than when I was pedaling on the slight incline. As much fun as it was to go so fast down the hill, it hit me that I was going to have to pedal back up that same hill to go home ... I was going to have to pedal really, really, really hard back up the hill to go home ... really, really, really hard. I convinced myself that I should ride on into the woods for a while rather than turn around and immediately tackle the hill and head home ... that makes total sense, right? Yep, I went ahead and rode for another 45 minutes and tired myself out before I had to expend an enormous amount of energy to attempt the part of the ride I was completely dreading and seriously wondering if I could even do. Sometimes I'm such a genius, I frighten myself.

By the time I turned around to ride home, I was stinking tired and soaked with sweat from the then rising heat and humidity level. When I reached the bottom of the hill, I did what all geniuses do ... I stopped and decided to find another way home. Never mind that I didn't know the back streets where the hill was all that well ... never mind that the easiest thing to do would have been to simply walk my bike up the hill ... never mind that I was almost out of water, and I had already eaten all the snacks from my backpack ... never mind any of those things. All that mattered to me was that I not have to deal with the hill ... not riding it, walking it or anything else. I was completely determined that I absolutely was not going to go up that hill ... absolutely not going to go up that hill at all. I'll spare you all the details, but 30 minutes later after trying several different routes, I returned to the hill, climbed off my bike, drank the rest of my water and pushed my bike up the hill. Yep, I'm a real genius alright.

I've been thinking all day about the hill ... more accurately, I've been pondering the huge lesson that lies in my experience with the hill this morning. Hills are something I've come to understand and know well over the last months ... hills of responsibility, hills of honesty, hills of accountability. So many hills I've tried to avoid ... hills I've tried to avoid by finding an easier way home ... a way home that doesn't hurt, a way home that doesn't require sacrifice, a way home that doesn't involve being humbled, a way home that doesn't mean admitting I can't climb them alone. If I hadn't been forced to take the detour this morning, I wouldn't have faced the hill ... and if I hadn't faced the hill, I wouldn't have heard Him speak.

"I love you, child ... I love you just as you are. Trust the signs I've placed along the trail to guide you ... trust the people I've placed in your life to help you ... trust the tasks I've placed before you to make you well ... trust the love I've placed within your heart to reach others who are hurting. Trust Me, Terrie ... trust Me ... pedal hard, do the work, climb the hill.The view from the top? It's simply awesome ... trust Me."