I spent the weeks leading up to Eremos’ first beta hike wrestling with doubt.
The plans had been made. Several people had said they would come. Then, one by one, life happened. Schedules changed. Conflicts came up. The group became smaller than I had imagined. With every cancellation, discouragement grew. I began asking questions I imagine every person pursuing something new eventually asks.
Was I wrong? Did I hear God correctly? Am I trying to build something He never asked me to build?
Eventually, two people remained. My oldest son. A friend who had only recently heard about Eremos. I kept moving forward, but if I’m honest, I wasn’t doing very well internally. One of the people I had hoped would be there was my pastor.
He had tentatively planned to come weeks before, but as the date drew closer, he realized he couldn’t make it. I told myself it didn’t bother me. Looking back, I think I was trying to convince myself more than anyone else. Then, the Sunday before the hike, something unexpected happened. He asked if I wanted to meet for breakfast and then drive up to Fairhaven for a hike. Of course I said yes.
I expected a good conversation. I expected a nice hike. I wasn’t expecting a lesson. We’ve known each other for most of our lives. His dad coached my basketball team when I was a kid. We grew up together. Now he serves as my pastor. Somewhere along the way, without realizing it, I had placed expectations on him that weren’t fair. I wanted him to help shape Eremos. I wanted his guidance. His advice. His reassurance. I wanted him to help me become the leader I thought I needed to be. The problem wasn’t that he had failed me. The problem was that I had quietly given him a role God never asked him to fill.
When we arrived at Fairhaven, we stopped by the office and borrowed the key to one of the chalets. I threw on my backpack, ready for a short hike. Then my pastor stepped down from the porch and asked me to listen… listen for questions or concerns God may place on my heart. For Eremos, for our church, for my life, anything. He would answer any questions I had.
So I headed down the trail alone.
The hike was wonderful. There was a waterfall. A few rocky sections that required my attention. Time alone with God. Some photos and video for future Eremos posts. Everything I had hoped for in a quiet afternoon. Then I walked back.
Looking back now, I think the hike prepared me for the porch. We sat together overlooking the mountains and simply talked. About our church. About ministry. About family. About leadership. About life. Nothing dramatic happened. There was no profound revelation. No miraculous sign. No overwhelming emotional moment. Just two friends sitting on a porch, talking while looking out over God’s creation. And somewhere during that conversation, something inside me shifted.
The circumstances hadn’t changed. The beta hike still had only two participants. The doubts hadn’t completely disappeared. But my perspective had. I stopped thinking,
“Only two people are coming.”
Instead I found myself thinking,
“These are the two people God has invited me to walk with.”
Then another realization quietly settled in. My pastor absolutely has a place in Eremos. It just isn’t the place I had imagined. I thought I needed him beside me on the trail. God showed me I needed him beside me in life. Those are not the same thing. That afternoon reminded me of something I hope I never forget. For someone to be part of Eremos doesn’t mean they have to hike every trail. Some people will walk beside us in the woods. Others will walk beside us through life. Both matter.
Maybe that’s because Eremos isn’t really a hiking ministry. It’s a ministry that uses the wilderness to teach attentiveness. Sometimes that attentiveness is learned beside a waterfall. Sometimes it’s learned while sitting on the porch of a quiet mountain chalet. The place changed. The lesson didn’t. That’s when I realized something I never expected.
The porch was part of the trail.