Just Scoot It . . .

by Renae Brumbaugh

Last weekend, my sweet family and I went hiking in Oklahoma. According to the website, Turner Falls seemed so serene and surreal, we felt it was just the place for us. We forgot, however, that no place in the southern United States is serene and surreal in the month of July, unless it’s indoors, in an air-conditioned environment, and involves home-made ice cream or ice-cold watermelon. The online pictures showed smiling, happy, beautiful families. Clearly, they were highly paid professional models, photographed in an air-conditioned building in front of a blue screen and later Photoshopped into a Turner Falls backdrop. Our pics from the weekend show dirty, sweat-drenched, overheated people with dried-up water bottles and skinned knees. If you sniff the pictures, you can probably smell the unpleasant odor emitting from our overactive sweat glands. Yeah. Apparently we weren’t the only ones who were sucked in by the pretty online pictures. That place was more crowded than IHOP on free pancake day. Everywhere we looked, there were tents crushed against tents like ducks on a June bug, hammocks hanging from every available tree, and the parking lot was packed tighter than a roomful of Taylor Swift’s exboyfriends. But we were not easily deterred from our mission. We pressed on, dutifully following the trail and the free map, hoping to see the glory of the falls. The map said two miles. Felt more like twenty. The closer we drew, the more strenuous the trail. That’s when things got interesting, because at one point we could take the hard way, climbing over rocks, under crevices, and through caves, for a great view of the falls from above. Or we could take the easy trail straight to the swimming area below the falls. I secretly voted for door number two. But everyone else in the clan wanted option one. They went ahead of me, but it didn’t take long for them to turn around. The rocks were too hard to climb. I groaned on the outside in an effort to show support and camaraderie. But inside, I cheered. That is, until I heard the conversation taking place between two male members of the pride. Don’t they know not to mess with the lioness? The conversation went something like this: Superman: I know it looks fun, but she’ll never make it. (Gestures to me.) Man-cub: Why can’t she just take the easy way and meet us at the bottom? Superman: That wouldn’t be right. We’re staying together. Man-cub: But . . . we can help her. Superman: We’re not going to put her through that. I don’t want your mother getting hurt. The path is too steep; she’ll never make it. Uh . . . Them’s fightin’ words. At least the girl-child knew enough to keep her mouth shut. I promptly got down on my bottom and proceeded to scoot down the rocks. Superman: What are you doing? Me: I’m hiking. You coming? Superman: (Hovering.) We’ve already decided to take the easier path. Why are you doing this? Me: (With John-Wayneswag.) Because you said I couldn’t. Now, I may have looked ridiculous scooting down the rocks instead of climbing down. But ask any mom of a toddler. The first rule of stair (or cliff) safety is to scoot on your bottom. That way, you may get a little scraped, but you lower your chances of actually breaking anything. I scooted a few feet, then climbed up a few more. One step, one scoot at a time, I made it to some pretty amazing views. We got incredible pictures of beautiful backgrounds framing our grimy little troupe. To be honest, I would never have taken the hard way if somebody hadn’t said I couldn’t. But the moment I realized I was being called weak, or frail, or whatever they wanted to call it, I had a choice. I could accept what they said about me, or I could rise to the challenge and prove them wrong. Too often, I’ve accepted the negative things people have said about me without a fight. In this case, Superman really was trying to watch out for me. Other times, people’s motives aren’t nearly as pure, and they want to bring me down a notch or two. God’s Word says that Satan wants to destroy me. He wants to kill my spirit, and he’ll use whatever means possible to tear me down and keep me living a small, defeated life. He whispers lies into the deepest part of me . . . lies about my value and ability and self-worth. And if he can get me to believe the lies, he’s won. When I’m faced with the accusation that I’m not smart enough or capable enough or strong enough, I’m going to take the challenge. After all, I may not be strong enough, but God is. And hey, if I can’t climb . . . I can always scoot. “The thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy; I have come that they may have life, and have it to the full,” John 10:10 NIV.