My final post from 2017 was sort of a review and reflection of the year, and I mentioned a few things that I hadn’t yet made time to blog about yet. Today you’re going to get to read all about one of those things! But first let me set the scene a little. It’s going to require some work from you.
You ready?
I want you to think back to an experience you’ve had in the past. Don’t settle on it just yet, because I need it to be pretty specific. This experience needed to have pushed you out of your comfort zone. There should have been some form of physical or mental challenge over several days AND you need to have been looking for support through it from people who are practically strangers. Got one yet?
I was sixteen when I had such an experience. At a church camp. Sounds simple enough, but this wasn’t just any camp. It was a Trek.
And I hated it.
I had been put into a ‘family’ with one sibling who I already knew. My Ma and Pa were pretty much strangers. Social anxiety started to simmer. I was unfit and required to walk. Lots of walking. All while pushing a handcart. It was hot and I was dressed in old school clothes and not wearing any deodorant. Don’t get me wrong. I had a positive attitude. But it was hard. Legitimately hard, tough, difficult stuff, and I missed not sleeping near cow pat or holding up a tarp that was our only shelter while it pelted rain. I mean, dry toilet paper was a luxury.
I promise I wasn’t bitter by the end of it, just super glad to be home enjoying flushing toilets and water that wasn’t seasoned with dirt. It was the most physically and mentally exhausting experience I’d ever had. Move over high school math.
I spent a lot of the time in awe of all the Ma’s and Pa’s ability to be so encouraging and loving because I was wrecked. One of the most vivid memories I have is repeatedly saying how I could never be a trek parent because if one of my kids wanted to sit and give up I’d probably say, “Cool, I’ll join you.”
So it probably makes complete sense that several years later, and just months ago, I would, without hesitation, say yes when Josh asked if I’d be willing to be a Trek Ma. I knew it wouldn’t be luxurious and the idea of being responsible for a bunch of teenagers wasn’t going to scare me from it. I committed to doing something I never dreamed I ever could and added number fifty nine to my list… go to trek (again).
Here’s the 411.
The church I belong to has a history rich with major sacrifices made by actual pioneers. There were several who literally trekked across country using handcarts. Every few years, the youth pay tribute to them by taking part in a reenactment of the trek, on a much smaller and luxurious scale. But in comparison to modern days it definitely is filled with its challenges.
Married couples or adult siblings are asked to act as leaders to a family of youth. You are expected to trek, eat, sleep, and be with your family. Trying to stick to trek-standards, dress is old fashioned. Girls are expected to wear dresses or skirts to the calf, along with bonnets and aprons, while the boys are to wear slacks, button up shirts, and suspenders. Deodorant is considered contraband and all tech is under a complete ban! Pillows are a luxury kept at home, and shelter is found under whatever the family constructs from a tarp and some rope. All food is made authentically using a Dutch oven over camp fire, and water is reliably room temperature.
I was pretty excited and totally anxious about meeting our kids. The thought of having bratty, rebellious kids didn’t even cross my mind. Luckily it hadn’t because it would have been a waste of space in my mind. Each of our kids was special and different, and I honestly wish that we had longer time together because there were a few of my quieter ones that I didn’t get to bond with as much.
Now onto the experience!
There were a few several heap of challenges, and my editing brain won’t allow me to divulge all of them, so here’s a few for your groaning pleasures.
By the end of the second day we had done something ridiculous like 20km worth of walking. I had gone all smart Sally and worn sensible shoes, but even that didn’t stop blisters from arising. Earlier in the day we had walked through water and I think the combo of wet socks and the friction of walking made for prime blister making magic. Those blisters were beautifully placed on both my pinky toes, so walking soon became a party of pain.
That same second day was the trek mandatory women’s pull. In the pioneer history, there came a time where several of the men had died, or become seriously ill and unable to assist in the pushing of the handcarts. This meant that there was a long period where the women were responsible for heading forward.
This moment was tough. We were popped on sand and four of my girls and I pushed. From my gym training I’ve learned to build an endurance mind and focus on the push through, but it was still tough. Even more so for my girl’s. The guy’s in our family were told to walk behind, unable to make comment or come help until they were given permission. We had a bit of a laugh as we turned back to see the guys walking in what looked like a boyband video clip, and I tried to reassure the girl’s that the guys really were suffering in not being able to help out.
One of my favourite challenges was one that was heavily questioned. After our first night’s sleep, the camp was abruptly awoken at 5am by a man complaining that we were trespassing on his land. After being assured by other leaders that this was not an intended part of the trek we were told that we needed to pack up and move out pronto or the police was going to be involved.
Despite our family being the last to pack up and move out the day before, I was so inspired to see the way we all worked together in crisis mode. No one needed to be rolled awake, and everyone observed and worked. It was a proud mumma moment to see parts of our family helping out other families because they had so quickly packed up.
It was to a lot of people’s frustration on the last day when it was revealed that the whole thing had been a set up that only two of the leaders had known about. Some of the kids were so annoyed and it made me laugh because arranged or not, they still had to do it. The truth hadn’t changed the outcome.
But it wasn’t all hard.
Since my first miscarriage I have felt very strongly about the fact that I am a mother, but because of my circumstances I’m not always in a position where I get to mother often. This trek gave me the wonderful and unique experience of being able to mother. I was blessed with eight teenage kids. But the greater blessing was how quickly I felt a genuine love for each of them. I loved being able to care for people in such a different and nurturing way.
Sometimes in my social awkwardness I wasn’t always the best at showing it, but trust me, the feels were reals!
Having chill hangs with the family and being able with chat to them just made me realise how much I want to have special relationships with each of my future children. Especially to recognize that each of them are actual people with unique ideas, hopes and potential.
The special moments were hearing our kids speak about how blessed they felt to have us as their parents and them sharing the love they had for our family. Another super sacred moment was on the Sunday afternoon where we all went as a family out into the great and spacious green that was around us, then sat off each to their own with some quiet time to write, ponder and pray. There was a beautiful stillness that touched many hearts, and it was so touching to see many return with teary eyes.
I miss those kids.
The day we returned home from trek, Josh went to have a lay down and then later told me that he already missed being a Pa and my heart almost broke in two. We did get to catch up with all but two of our kids at the trek reunion activity which was such a blessing. The beauty of social media helps me keep in touch with most of the kidlettes.
I’m not totally sure how trek affected each of my kids, and I’m more unsure of how much they understand the place it had in my heart. They all allowed me a very sacred experience of loving in such a special way, and having a bittersweet glimpse into the possibilities of my future. Moments with them gave me an opportunity to admire parts of them and to think, “Wow, I hope one of my sons leads like that,” “I really would love if my daughter could be as encouraging as that.”
Those four days were intense. Sore. Tiring. Humbling.
They reminded me that hard things are not always bad. Bad things can be beautiful. There is growing space in pain and struggle. Find the strength!
