THE LOST TRAIL by Shara Bueler-Repka
“Behold, I will do a new thing, now it shall spring forth; shall you not know it? I will even make a road in the wilderness and rivers in the desert” (Isaiah 43:19 NKJV)
And then, the cold reality hit me—this obscure trail was made by someone who had gotten lost. And now ... so was I.
As I hit the trails to ride, I’m sure the Lord is grinning while shouting, “Dispatch!” to His backcountry angels. “Riding out” for many years, I’m not one to always take the beaten path. Quite often, I take the “road less-traveled”—if traveled at all.
The arroyos I studied on the way up to my lookout-hill proved to have no path among them. The only way I knew to get to our camp was to trace my way back on the dim trail I’d ridden on—which would put us in the middle of the main trail in the pitch-black dark. It was not looking good, but it was the only way out ... or so I thought.
Such was the case as I spotted a fresh, new trail on the way back to our camp. My heart jumped with a “YEA!” and my horse, Nocona, and I fairly skipped up that trail. However, as we rode up and down hills and picked our way through rocks and cactus, following this dim, sometimes non-existent path, I got suspicious of it. It seemed to meander around with no purpose or direction, not taking me where I needed to go. The sun slowly sank toward the horizon, and I got nervous. You do not want to get caught after dark in this Arizona country with its precarious landscape, rattlesnakes, and mountain lions.
I swung Nocona around and prayed. We rode past the small arroyo I studied before, and I glanced at it again. What? We pulled up short as I stared down that arroyo. A path? Through the rocks and cactus? My mind tried to wrap itself around the reality before my eyes. I surveyed that place not a half-hour before—and no trail existed. Yet, there it was! Wasting not a minute more, we headed down the new path and got back to camp as the last bit of light disappeared.
As I sat on my horse on top of a hill to get my bearings, I saw the landmark trees that overlooked our camp—we were so close, but yet so far. Rocks, cactus, and insurmountable obstacles kept me from riding straight down the hill toward “home.”
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