Some dear friends hiked from one rim of the Grand Canyon to the other. The effort was expanded to include a number of side trails, not usually witnessed by those who pummel through with the intention to finish in a single day. Instead they chose to savor the views, those vistas that are rendered invisible if you start and finish in the darkness, which is the only way to accomplish twenty four miles and ten thousand feet of elevation change.  

 

By taking the trail in half a week our friends were given the luxury, if you can call it that, of setting up camp in remote parts of the Arizona landscape. They followed paths carved into the side of the mountain, with a sheer drop on one side and cliff face on the other. 

 

One of the hikers needed reassurance. Her husband kindly held her hand in the parts that seemed scary, and even sang to her. Sometimes they listened to a meditation, or recited the 23rd Psalm. When they were tired, they rested. 

 

Then she began to notice something. If she was discouraged, there would appear a heart shaped rock at her feet. Not a perfect heart, but close enough to replicate a symbol that brought comfort. Perhaps she was tempted to lean over and pick them all up, but then again she was carrying a weighty pack crammed with the bare essentials so she only saved a couple of small ones. 

 

Still she noticed. Maybe even smiled. Perhaps she stooped long enough to feel the smooth surface, and turn it over in her hands. The message was received, whether or not she hung on to the proof. 

 

She felt loved. 

 

It kept happening. When her legs began to ache, or the route in front loomed long, there would be another heart. As if it was waiting for her. As if someone knew she would be exhausted right about now. 

 

Maybe such subtleties are strewn at all of our feet. They are not always rocks, but maybe the shaft of golden light coming through a window, or a chorus on the radio that evokes memories. The message is simple, yet evocative. 

 

You are loved.