"I myself am often surprised by life's little quirks." -- Westley,
The Princess Bride"Life's little quirks" are, I find, often the very things that make one feel most truly
alive. Take yesterday as a case in point. My friend Laura is soon to return to Hillsdale, so when I heard that she and my sisters and some of her siblings and a few other people were planning a hike, I begged an invitation.
"That way we'll have time to talk," I said to her.
"Indeed!" She replied.
It turned out that the hike was to be led by Laura's younger brother, John. John is at that stage of late adolescence (he's about 16) where, in our church culture, the people around him encourage him to lead. This may sound crazy, but it usually works well. Consequently, eleven young people (I think I was the oldest, and most were well under 18) cheerfully put themselves in the hands of a teenager and set off under the leaden sky for Annapolis Rock.
Laura and I got to talk all during the drive up, and all during the first half of the hike. That part was truly splendid. We got to the top at about 4:20 PM, admired the view, took pictures, sang songs, etc. It was a broader vista than the one seen from Raven's Rock, but otherwise much like that place.
Somewhere in the middle of all this, I felt the first drop of rain. Twilight was setting in. I considered the long way back, the increasing darkness, the wetness of the trail and the steepness of the descent. Hm.
"John," I called, "shall we be heading back soon?"
"Why would we?" Was the blithe response.
I paused again. Tricky ground. This was
his trip, and at his stage of developing leadership it seemed to me important that I should not interfere unnecessarily. The way was not
very steep, and some flashlights had been brought along "in case of emergency." None of us were particularly delicate or in bad health. The worst thing that could probably happen was a cold
soaking for all of us and (possibly) a sprained ankle. Okay. No biggie.
So I briefly commented on the darkness and rain, made it clear that in my view the decision was his, and awaited that decision.
He listened, considered, and delivered his verdict. "I think we can stay another twenty minutes." I acquiesed. Twenty minutes wetter and darker would not make an appreciable difference in the state of things. It was not quite what I
would have done, perhaps, but that wasn't the point. The point was that John was becoming a leader and must not be undermined in that process by anxious females.
As it turned out we did all become thoroughly soaked and chilled, and the way back was both dark and slippery. But no one got a sprained ankle and no one was lost in the dark or took the wrong trail. John very kindly gave Marjorie his sweatshirt and Alex offered Charity his vest (but she didn't want it). The boys helped the girls and the slippery parts were all safely navigated. I found the experience oddly exhilerating, combining mild physical hardship with a slight edge of ominousness. The rain wasn't a driving one, just steady and cold. The feeling of having to push oneself in order to achieve a definite goal (warmth and dryness) made the whole thing satisfying.
John lagged behind the group a bit. I waited for him after I was sure that everybody else had got safely up the last bit of steep muddy trail. Perhaps that was less than perfectly follower-like and trusting, but I
am a big sister (certain habits die very hard) and Laura had already gone on to shepherd the others into the van. At length, I spotted a figure in the gloom. He had both hands in his pockets, and his t-shirt was dripping.
"H'lo," I said, cheerfully. "How was it? We lost you back there."
"Oh, I was meditating."
"Aha. Well, here we all are. I asked the boys to help the girls up and thought I'd just wait a minute for you."
Alex and Sean were still waiting at their stations on the steep part, so I gave them my hands (don't ask the other girls to "let the boys help you" if you aren't willing to do it yourself) and up we went. Besides, it really was slippy.
Walking down to the parking lot, I glanced at John again. His head was still down. "Hey," I said, "Are you all right?"
"Oh, yes. Are you.... cold?"
"I am having a splendid time," I assured him. I said it for two reasons: first, because it was perfectly true and the most encouraging thing I could think of to say to a leader; second, because his tone gave me the idea that he may have been regretting his earlier choice and feeling sorry
that we, his flock, had had to bear the consequences. He seemed to buck up a bit as I continued to point out the larksomeness of the whole adventure.
It
was larksome, and I enjoyed it greatly. It was also a good opportunity to practice the difficult task of followership. Overall, I think I can say that John did splendidly. He listened, acted with a reasonable amount of wisdom, and seemed cognizant of the responsibility laid on him (which is half the battle). I give him full marks. Whether or not I succeeded so well as a follower is not for me to say; I think I ought to have done differently at one or two points, but I'm glad that I was able to support him. Watching people learn to lead, and learning oneself to follow, are very great things. I have come to enjoy them. :-)
