I woke thinking over what I had been reflecting on yesterday and how the sense of being out of control is a significant stressor. Yesterday, I had not been in control of the weather, but I had planned and prepared in order to mitigate against it as much as possible by ensuring I had a good rain-jacket and overtrousers. I also opted to wear contact lenses in order to avoid the depressing feeling of rain-covered glasses slipping down one’s nose. Neither was I in control of the route - one simply had to accept that it was what it was. I had read about the stretch of moor and watched some videos to get a feel for the landmarks and terrain.
My mind did play back some of the times in ministry when I had felt not in control; the most painful of which had been with people who initially had acted as if they were wanting to be close supporters but who, over time, revealed that they had been operating their own agenda leading to conflict over issues of approach or direction.
Being in control suggests having the power and resources to overcome the chaos, but that is the role God plays.
From the waters of chaos you drew forth the world,
and in your great love, fashioned us in your image.
as I read each day in Morning Prayer. However, we can plan and prepare so as to mitigate the chaos, and thereby reduce the impact of our not being in control. I wondered whether it is fair to say that we tend to assume leadership is about the Godly exercise of power, rather than in the Christ-like embracing our weakness and accepting the reality of the chaos around?
It was later start today, that suited me with only 9 miles today. It started raining as I left Kingshouse toward Glencoe. I don’t normally do rainbow photos, but I couldn’t resist it looking towards Buachaille Etive Mor. The scenery was stunning, but for the first hour the path ran very close to the main A road north and there was lots of groups of walkers. I tried to focus on the mountains and clouds and not get distracted. Eventually the path veers right and starts to head up towards the skyline on the hills looking above. This is where the Old Military Road makes for a pass over the side of Glencoe over to Kinlochleven and is commonly known as The Devil’s Staircase. The path rises for some time before a series of switchbacks begin to overcome the steepest gradient. One could see the path stretching up and ahead by the bobbing and swaying luminous rain-covers on rucksacks.
I looked up and took a photo of the final stretch of the climb. I realised that my mind calmly tried to estimate the remaining distance to climb and could say to myself “another 20 minutes”, rather than wish I was the tall, athletic young man with the blue cover who had just strode effortlessly past me. Trusting my own ability to get there eventually is something I have learnt on this trip.
The climb was actually easier than the long descent into the town. For much of the way we were on a road connecting the hydro-electric station to the town - just steep enough to make you feel you need to brace yourself from going too quickly.
As I entered the town I chatted briefly with a lady tidying the front of the Salvation Army building. A cafe allowed a well-earned cup of tea. I sat and watched the river for some time before heading off to find my digs for the night.
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