I woke up wondering what chore I would tackle today, three months into retirement. The list wasn’t lengthy, but I’d been chipping away at things since we returned from our first big retirement adventure. It was the middle of October, so the yard was beckoning me to work on the perennial beds while the ground was still soft and cooperative. But as I lay in bed, in no hurry to get up, I paused my thoughts, reminded myself that I didn’t have to do chores today, then remembered the wise words of a clergy friend who advised me, prior to my retirement, to start practicing being retired beforehand. For me that usually meant taking a longer walk or heading to a trail for a hike that I wouldn’t normally allow myself the time for. Yes, that’s what I’d do today.
On this morning, with the crisp air outside and leaves starting to diversify their color palette, I decided to take a hike in one of my favorite nearby parks, Oregon Ridge. I’ve been there many times and know the trails pretty well. There’s a long combination of trails that forms a loop around the whole park and takes me about two hours to complete.
I arrived a little after ten and headed to the right, determined to move counterclockwise as I went. I was about 30 minutes in when I saw a trail divert to the right that was unmarked but clearly a trail, based on the wear marks in the dirt. It was unfamiliar and I wondered if it was one of the temporary trails created recently for some necessary forest clearing due to an invasive pest. In any case, I wanted to explore it and figured I could always backtrack if necessary.
It was clearly not a regular trail, for it was missing blazes painted on tree trunks as guides, and eventually the trail got harder and harder to see, especially due to the thickening carpet of Fall leaves. I got to the stream that I recognized and was able to follow it, crossing a few times on rocks that I know were there for that purpose. But then I got to one of the clearings created by a utility line going through the park. The stream cut right through the clearing and I knew I was in a spot I’d never been. It was a definite detour. I didn’t feel lost, but I didn’t know precisely where I was.
Detours can be fun, or annoying, but also dangerous. Mary and Joseph fled Egypt to escape the death of their newborn. Moses' and the Israelites’ Sinai adventure involved forty years of detours. Life takes us places we don’t expect and sometimes those places cause pain, heartache, make us feel lost, alone, but they can also start us down a new path with new discoveries.
Early in my life, I was convinced I wanted to be an architect and so I made it happen. Three years after beginning my career, I left it completely and pursued full time ministry at a significantly reduced salary. Detour. Eventually, that took me to seminary and there were many detours that followed.
When we traveled this summer, at the slower pace of retirees that didn’t have to cram as many adventures into a short vacation, we took a lot of intentional detours. When we were sightseeing in an area, I’d often just turn down a road that looked interesting to see where it would lead. We once ended up on a levee overlooking the Bay of Fundy as the sun set behind us. It was the best!
Retirement has been its own detour of sorts, taking me onto a new path that’s unfamiliar but full of potential adventures. I’m also about to embark on a slight vocational detour from retirement as I fill in for two months at a church whose interim priest needs to step away early due to a family issue. It feels right and I trust I will be able to navigate my way through this side trip with the same sense of adventure that the unmarked trail in Oregon Ridge presented to me on this crisp Fall day.
On that path, the stream wound around to bring me to a marked trail I recognized, and I was back at the car in 30 minutes, no worse for wear, and bemused by the adventure I had allowed myself to have, being willing to detour away from chores and detour down a road less traveled.
And I was able to enjoy myself because I never felt lost, because I knew I was always within God’s sight.