Never take a baby backpacking unless...

by Joel Bates

What we were doing seemed crazy—not just because it was winter and not just because we had never done it before.  Those risk factors weighed heavily, but my greatest concern rested on our motley group.  You see, our “band of brothers”—made up of a nine-month-old baby, a nursing mother, a young mother in her 24th week of pregnancy, two teens, three college students, and two, more mature adventurers—were attempting to hike the expanse of the Grand Canyon rim to rim and back again.  We would hike more than 50 miles and face over 11,000 feet of elevation change. The hand-crafted trails etched into the sides of the cliffs led to arid, empty wastelands, making our journey not only about endurance, but also about survival.  

As we approached the South Kaibab Trail, a warning sign appeared: Down is optional.  Up is mandatory.  However, from the moment we stepped onto the trail, an unanticipated, immense desert panorama that far exceeded our expectations captivated us with its beauty.  Our route took us north on a path that centered on the spines of ridges, and we could behold the full, gaping expanse of the canyon that was swallowing us whole.  The sun shone brightly, and its warmth caressed our faces—a gentle kindness despite the time of year—while a cool breeze refreshed our panting breath.   

You may be wondering why we would venture to such a mighty place with such a frail and vulnerable group.  Somewhere around halfway down the canyon, I could see the bottom where the cold Colorado River flowed like a green ribbon, and when our party stopped for a short rest break to take in the view, I remembered a prayer I had prayed a week and a half earlier. 
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My wife, Julie, and our 9-month-old baby, Lydia, almost didn’t come.  Leading up to the trip we had wrestled daily with the indecision of whether or not to take a baby on such a long and arduous expedition.  Winter, backcountry, and babies don’t always mix well.  It wasn’t that we thought the trip was life threatening, just that we didn’t want Lydia or Julie to suffer.  At the same time, we really wanted to do this as a family.  The decision consumed our thoughts. 

So, during a planning evening a few days before the start of the trip, we sat with other members of our expedition and prayed about whether Julie and Lydia should go.  As we sought the Lord for clear direction, no one felt a pang of worry, but neither did they report a sense of confirmation.  One friend said he felt the Lord say that whatever decision we made would turn out good.  In my heart I wanted to see them go, but I worried about the outcomes.  As I bowed my head the Holy Spirit revealed an image and invitation.  The picture was of Jesus, suited up for the expedition and walking next to Lydia and Julie down the Grand Canyon trail.  He was beaming with a huge smile, and with a sweep of his hand gesturing to the spectacle of the canyon said, “Come and see.” 

That’s why when I stood looking down at the river, feeling the sun on my face and looking at my wife and baby there beholding it, too, my eyes sparkled as I held back tears of joy.  “Come and see!”  What an invitation!  What a command!  He’s been making that statement since He created this world. 

Psalm 66:5 says, “Come and see what God has done: He is awesome in His deeds toward the children of man.”  Is it possible that when He made the Grand Canyon, He did it just to show it to us?  It is possible that He really did hike right next to a baby, keeping her contented and supplied while she bounced in the back of a pack carrier?  What sort of a God does that, and why?
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Psalm 111:2-4 gives further revelation: “Great are the works of the LORD, studied by all who delight in them. Full of splendor and majesty is His work, and His righteousness endures forever. He has caused His wondrous works to be remembered; the LORD is gracious and merciful” (ESV). 

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​It seems clear that God does this—makes this stuff, invites us to come and see—so we will remember that He is all powerful (greater than any canyon), a delighter of people, righteous, gracious, and merciful.  Instead of seeing God as a killjoy or as indifferent to our plans, perhaps we should consider how He’s orchestrated His creation to center all our affections, all our hopes, all our longings on Him, proving that when we “come and see,” it’s not creation that we truly marvel at, but the Maker of it all.  All we have to do is lift our eyes and see. 
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I placed faith in the Lord’s simple invitation.  He didn’t promise it would be easy, and He didn’t guarantee our safety, but knowing He would be with us left me with a peace that passed understanding.  So, there we stood, Julie and Lydia and I with our family and companions.  We stood in the glow of morning sunlight and drank in the cool canyon air.  We stood in awe of the breathtaking scenery at the invitation of almighty God.  He had said, “Come and see,” so what else could we do but behold and worship?   

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For you, O LORD, have made me glad by your work;
at the works of your hands I sing for joy.
Psalm 92:4 ESV

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