The docks
(Editor's Note: Chattanoogan Claire Henley started an adventure of a lifetime on the remote Pacific Crest Trail in April. Along the way, she had many adventures and found herself a husband named Big -Spoon).
“When you look into your mother’s eyes, you know that is the purest love you can find on this earth.”
-Mitch Albom
For my loving Mama
The next day, after tossing and turning in the below freezing night, we reached Big Bear–a rustic lake town at mile 266 burried within the San Bernardinos. It was Saturday, and after checking into the Motel 6 on Big Bear Boulevard, we walked down the block to a hole-in-the-wall eatery called No Name Pizza for dinner. As we shared a large pizza, we also shared things from our lives, for which reason I told about my mother and how my favorite pastimes with her had been on our nature walks through southern hills to pick the lively, sweet-smelling wildflowers.
The next day was Mother’s Day, and I woke before the Tallyhos, slipped on my freshly laundered hiking clothes–now stained with sweat marks and dirt–and caught the 7:45 shuttle outside the motel to go to the early service at Community Church Big Bear. I missed my mother and thought of her on the three mile ride. As I watched out the window, I saw her in the bright poppies springing from the street, on the high mountaintops poking up from behind rock cottage homes, and up in the blue open sky where white gliders flew like angels.
When I stepped off at the bus stop for the church, Big Bear Lake greeted me with its mountain-reflecting water that shimmered like silver as the sun rounded over it. It was a sunny warm day that existed in stark contrast to the snow and cold of the day before. Before going inside the church, I looked out on the lake and the many boats docked in the marina, remembering last Mother’s Day when my mother, brother, sister, and I paddled canoes down the Tennessee River.
Inside the painted white church, I walked up to the coffee station in the chapel and, though I showered the day before, I instantly became aware of how badly I smelled (for the thru-hikers stench was becoming hard to wash out) as a plump woman with porcelain skin and a soft lavender scent poured me a steaming cup.
“You must be a PCT hiker,” she said, not backing away from my odorous self, but drawing in very close. I told her I was, and in the next moment the motherly woman waved her hands for the members of the church to come over.
“She’s hiking the PCT!” The woman proclaimed, after which I found myself surrounded by people of all stages of life hugging me tight, patting me on the back, and engaging with me about the giant trek. No one seemed to mind my smell. The vibrant crowd abolished it through their compassionate love.
I took a seat in the second row next to a smiling woman, Cindy, who said she’d drive me back to the motel after church. A rugged wooden cross hung behind the pulpit and next to it was a chalkboard sign that read, “Healed by Faith.” The service began with music; the lead singer played the acoustic guitar, looked and sounded like Bruce Springsteen; and the pastor, Mike Barns, was on bass. The band welcomed in the Holy Spirit with songs of deepest praise. The chapel radiated with joyful sound, and I felt deeply–deeply–alive.
For the sermon, Pastor Mike–a stout man with white hair and farseeing eyes–opened with the story of when he and some elders walked for five arduous days through Tibet to an earthquake torn village in the middle of nowhere to offer help and prayer to the people. He said these people were in great pain from all the devastation and profoundly grateful for the outside support. He then transitioned to the Bible and spoke from the book of Luke when Jesus brought a widow’s dead son back to life. Pastor Mike said Jesus went to the widow whose son had just passed. She had lost everything dear to her and Jesus had compassion on her; He allowed himself to feel her pain. Then Jesus touched the bier–the pallet where the dead boy lay, thus making Jesus unclean by cultural standards. “Young man, I say to you, get up!” The Son of God said. Then the boy came back to life, and Jesus returned him to his mother.
Pastor Mike ended the sermon by saying that before he became a Christian, he would ask his mother near the time of Mother’s Day what she would like from him. Every time she answered, “Son, I would like you to come to church with me.”
In his closing prayer, Pastor Mike gave thanks to both Jesus and mothers for their life-giving love that was all in and knew no bounds.
I still reeked of body odor, and as he prayed, I gave thanks for this unconditional love, too.
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Claire's first book on her adventures while living in Colorado can be ordered here:
http://www.amazon.com/51-Weeks-The-Unfinished-Journey-ebook/dp/B00IWYDLBQ/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1394801373&sr=8-1&keywords=51+Weeks
Pastor Mike