Becoming Odyssa - Jennifer Pharr Davis [48]
“What about you, do you believe in a God?” he asked.
“Yes, I’m a Christian.”
He turned and looked at me for a moment, then asked, “Why?”
It was times like these that I grew frustrated with God. I knew He had the power to create us with the capability to understand the divine, but He chose not to. So I was left trying to explain my relationship with an all-powerful, highly controversial Creator of the universe using the intangible evidence of miracles, the mystery of faith, and the concept of grace.
I loved these ethereal building blocks of faith, but they didn’t make explaining it any easier, especially to someone like Moot. Moot was one of the most pragmatic people I had ever met, so he wanted a rational reason why I would base my life on faith in a man who came to earth two thousand years ago and upset people to the point of being executed.
Taking a deep breath, I began:
“I’m a Christian because if you know Jesus, then you have to decide whether He is God or whether He is a maniac. And I think He’s God. I have thought that from a young age, and since then it feels like God has been revealing Himself to me in ways that make me know He is real.
“Christianity helps me to understand things both good and bad, and when I can’t understand, I can rely on trust and faith, which is often better than an answer.
“And, well, most importantly, I have always felt loved—not loved like I feel around family or friends, but loved with a deep, strong, constant, overwhelming embrace that I know comes from God.
“I know I can’t explain it very well, but if you could feel what I feel on the inside, you’d understand.”
There was a pause when I finished. When Moot spoke, he changed the subject.
Thank God.
I had enjoyed hiking with Moot, but after spending the night with several other hikers at a shelter that evening, I was excited to wake up the next morning and continue hiking alone.
I enjoyed a pleasant morning on the trail. I climbed up the slopes of Mount Rogers, the highest mountain in Virginia, but it seemed like a hill compared to some of the climbs in North Carolina and Tennessee. The sun lavishly blanketed the ground and encouraged shoots of green to rise out of the earth.
After crossing a small stream, I decided to stop for lunch. Midway through my meal, I looked up to see Moot walking down the trail. I was glad to see him again, and the feeling seemed mutual, as he quickly threw down his pack to have lunch beside me.
“You didn’t say good-bye this morning,” he said.
“I didn’t think you were awake,” I responded
“Well, it took me a long time to catch you.”
Catch me? The way Moot said that made me feel a little uneasy. It sounded like he had made it his objective for the day to find me.
When lunch was over, we hiked together toward Grayson Highlands State Park. At the park boundary there was a trail register, and I was slightly annoyed when Moot took the pen and wrote MOOT AND ODYSSA into the guest log. I hadn’t signed a register since Springer Mountain in Georgia, and I didn’t like that he’d signed it for me. But I was sure he was trying to be helpful, so I decided not to say anything.
Grayson Highlands State Park has two of my favorite things: beautiful views and wild ponies. The rolling hills inside the park feature undulating fields of grass and dramatic rock outcroppings. The exposed terrain makes it easier to spot the wild ponies that find sanctuary within the park’s border. Even though the ponies were advertised as “wild,” that didn’t stop me from attempting a close encounter.
At first, my off-key neighs and whinnies weren’t enough to convince them that I was a friend, but after I pulled some Twizzlers out of my food bag, they quickly warmed up to me. I grew excited as the ponies drew near and began to eat directly from my hand. And as their comfort level increased, one little guy even tried to steal a Twizzler from my mouth.
I freely admit that candy probably wasn’t the best dietary choice for the small horses—or for myself, for that matter—but in the absence of apples or carrots, the red straws