Waterfalls, on the other hand, fascinate and frighten me at the same time. Maybe that’s why I’m drawn to them. In our numerous trips to the North Shore of Minnesota and Michigan’s Upper Peninsula, we’ve hiked out to a fair share of waterfalls. Most of the waterfalls we’ve viewed are in state parks, where the hiking trails are usually well groomed, and if you stick to the trails and heed the strongly worded DANGER signs, there’s very little possibility that you’ll go tumbling down a deep gorge, break your neck, and drown in front of a bunch of horrified onlookers.
A couple of weeks ago, Kev and I were up visiting our newly acquired land on the Bayfield peninsula and decided to hike out to Houghton Falls. Most of what I’d read about the falls suggested they are relatively small and gradual as far as falls grow, so I figured it would be a fear-free hike. The hike-at-your-own-risk sign at the trail head put an end to my optimism.
The hike started out in the woods, and as we approached the river, the sloping, tree-studded walls down the gorge did not hold the danger of a sheer drop off (the trees could easily break my fall), so I treaded cautiously down the trail. We followed the gorge until it felt like we were in some sort of hidden, moss-covered cave, almost a fairyland with several small step-like falls, and as long as I stayed on the far side of the trail away from the edge of the gorge, it was a perfectly lovely view. As we progressed down the river, the characteristic roar of the water grew louder and louder, and the drop off to the gorge grew more and more pronounced. Once we approached the main falls, the trail split—one fork followed the edge of the gorge, and one fork went through the woods several feet back from the gorge. I followed the trail into the woods and then stood rooted to my spot, craning my neck to get a view over the edge of the gorge. I caught a glimpse of the top of the waterfall, and that was good enough.
Kev, however, followed the fork that lead along the edge of the gorge and started to take pictures.
“Uh, Kevin,” I called from my safe spot in the woods. “Aren’t you too close? Shouldn’t you come back now?
“Aren’t you going to come and look?” he yelled back.
“I saw it!"
He shrugged and started to whistle. I decided I couldn’t watch and started back down the trail, listening for his whistle to be sure he hadn’t plummeted into the water below.
When Kevin caught up with me, he asked me why I didn’t want to look. “That was so cool! You missed the best part,” he said.
I shrugged sheepishly. “It was too dangerous. There was no guardrail.”
“Keri, I stayed on the trail and my footing was always secure,” he said gently. “I was never in any danger.”
As we hiked back to the car, I contemplated my fear. Staying far back from the edge may have made me feel safe from the danger of death by waterfall I had concocted in my head, but I missed out on the view, which was the entire purpose of our hike.
Fear is tricky like that. Many times I’ve allowed it—yes, it is a choice—to squelch my enthusiasm and nab my joy. Since my mom’s illness and death almost two years ago, the reality that no one is immune from tragedy has left me skittish and open to fear’s cunning. Bad things don’t just happen to people on the news; therefore, I always need to expect the worst—this is what I’ve let fear hoodwink me into believing. Even when I’m handed incredible blessings, I find myself looking over my shoulder wondering if they’re going to suddenly vanish. Talk about missing out on the view! This is no way to live.
I heard it said once that safety and security are not found in the absence of danger; they’re found in the presence of God. I love this! It would be an interesting study to go through the Bible and count how many times God’s people are told not to be afraid, and for good reason. There is, after all, no place to find firmer footing than in the arms of our sovereign Lord. Absolutely nothing is out of his reach.
As waterfall season approaches, I will, of course, stick to the trails, as all good waterfall viewers should, but my prayer these days is for God to vanquish the demon of fear completely from my life and help me enjoy every view I encounter to its fullest, even if doing so means stepping a little bit closer to the edge.
Great writing, Keri! Beautifully put, every word! I share your fear of stepping close to the edge. We visited Gooseberry Falls this spring and you can bet I was holding onto the kids pretty tight! I have one strong memory from visiting Gooseberry Falls as a kid. There was a sign posted there as a memorial to someone who had drowned. I asked my Dad what happened. "He got too close to the edge," Dad said. "What if I fell, Daddy, you'd catch me wouldn't you?" "No," he said, "I don't think I could catch you if you fell here." "What would you do then?" "I would just be really, really sad," he said, and hugged me. It was really a moment of realizing that my Dad was not all powerful.
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