There are shapes on the mountain top. At first there was just one. A minute figure – a wild dog perhaps. I could not work it out. But now there are more. The fact is we are lost and these mountains that looked so friendly in the midday light seem to be closing in on us in shapes and moods that threaten. I hear a stabbing growl. It vibrates in the wind from the high mountain. And it looses the fear inside of me.
I turn to my loved one and brim with all the doubt that is welling up inside. This is not my land. I have no place here. I have no crowns in this territory. Where is God in these desolate hills?
We stumble down the turrets of this castle edifice – like fugitives running for our lives. Eland antelope stare at us from a nearby hill. They are the lords of the land. I glance at the mountain silhouettes and see more shapes gathering. Fear now fluttering in me like a mad bird. Would they follow us those black imposing figures? What were they? Could they smell my fear?
How did we get here? The path, with promises of mountain treasure, deceptively lead us into a labyrinth. Hope gave our feet direction and light gave us illusions of security. Now in the dying light would we ever find our way out of this place? I start to run on the uneven ground, a beggar on wooden legs.
We push on, avoiding rocky outcrops with steep and dangerous cliffs. Surely around this bend we will see some landmark we recognise? I want to go back, the other path looked safer. I lose my sense of logic. I want anything but to be here – an instant teleportation to civilization would be nice. But I am stuck with this one-foot-in-front-of-the-other-reality. I know the only way to survive is to walk. The only person who can move me is myself and the encouragement of my husband who says, “This way.” I need to trust. Just simply trust that we will get out of here before the night’s black curtain falls.
After what seems to be a million steps and a million tufts of grass and shards of rock – we see a glimmer of what could be. This thing that we would normally overlook becomes a beacon of possibility. Oh blessed wire fence! I have never been so happy to see your humble wooden stakes! Still the uneven ground, still my ankle burns and pains to walk and yet how differently we talk. We know now that home is within our reach. We follow this simple line – a life line to civilisation and soon over the hill we begin to recognise the outline of chalet roofs in the distance and see the headlights of cars on country roads. We are out of our nightmare, we have seen our destination. The night closes in. We are not afraid anymore.
We cross the river and find the tarred road that leads to our car. All is suddenly restored. All is coming back to us now – like a gift, solid and familiar. It was a dream we were caught in for a few hours and it has passed. But how fragile my hope was and how fearful my heart! In unknown lands I hope to be stronger next time. I hope to carry my weight differently and not to be so intimidated by the sounds of dogs or baboons – whatever their cry. I hope to be better prepared next time. A torch perhaps? More faith perhaps? I hope in whatever terrain to keep alive the wonder and respect of God those mountains inspire.