I was on the Big Island of Hawaii recently, where I broke a bone in my foot. It's a crummy thing to have happen on vacation, surely, but if it was going to happen, at least it was after we got to the volcano - I'd been there before, so I only missed out on one hike I hadn't done before.
There was a surface lava flow just outside the park, so we drove to the county-run viewing area. On a foot broken only 48h earlier, and no crutches, I set off from the parking area as the sun slipped behind the mountains. One mile out (though I didn't really realize it was that far at the time - but a) I'm known for my ridiculous death-march hikes and b) it's not like we have a volcano at home. I was gonna see lava.)
One younger-dad type passed us, saw my limp, but encouraged us to keep going. We were maybe only a third of the way in. He said it's still a long walk, but it's incredible. So we continued on.
Later, maybe another third of the way, we passed an older-dad type, who told the group walking in front of us that the walk wasn't worth it, they may as well turn around, there wasn't anything more to see.
Ever the eternal optimist, I chose to believe the first guy. We walked about as far as you could go on the paved path. We didn't get close enough for the lava to singe our toes or melt our shoes or anything, but we did see some fires where the lava was consuming trees. And slowly, as night continued falling, more and more red spots on the hillside became more and more visible. It was quite a sight, even if not the apocalyptic lava fountains one secretly hopes to witness on such a vacation. But something, for sure, unlike anything I'd seen before. Standing on rock (1) younger than me - younger than my students, even - watching island-building in action. A whole fiery hillside sliding toward the sea under a glassy black crust.
But back to the two men who offered very different advice along the way. It's interesting that neither saw the lava in its full nighttime glory. We passed them on the way out, while the bright tropical sunlight was still obscuring the more subtle incandescence from the lava.
Maybe the first one had seen it on a previous evening. Who knows. It's easy to feel sorry for the second guy, who spoke from a hardened heart, of sorts, and who doesn't even know what he doesn't know.
These encounters echoed a passage from Brent Curtis and John Eldredge's The Sacred Romance that I read the very next morning (2).
When we face a decision to fall back or press on, the whole universe holds its breath - angels, demons, our friends and foes, and the Trinity itself - watching with bated breath to see what we will do. ... The question that lingers from the fall of Satan and the fall of man remains: Will anyone trust the great heart of the Father, or will we shrink back in faithless fear?
So, to whom am I listening on other journeys? The acknowledgment that the road is long and, in my broken condition, may be quite difficult and painful, but that in the end it is all worthwhile? Or the voice of easy abandonment: turn around now, you've already seen all that's good to see? We'd probably like to say the first. But the second is so dismissively seductive that it's easy to choose.
Broken, I press on, with the promise of the spectacular.
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2 I've encountered an incredible amount of well-timed reading in the past few months. Skeptics may call it coincidence or an artifact of my awareness. I see their points, but choose a different explanation.
