I’ve looked at the question, “Why me?” differently since one day on the Appalachian Trail 21 years ago.
In the summer and fall of 1994, I was attempting a south-bound thru-hike of the AT. One of the many adventurers I met was a devout Catholic fellow with the trail name “Moses.”
“Moses” was in his 60’s (at least). Each night, he’d sleep in his tent, be the first one up in the morning, and be packed up and on the trail usually before the sun was up. He was slow but persistent, hiking all day long. Being much younger, I would stay hunkered in my sleeping bag until the sun was up and warming the morning chill. My youthful hiking pace usually caught me up to “Moses” on his morning break–a short rest just long enough to eat a pair of cold pop-tarts. He sometimes passed me when I stopped for my “gorp” lunch, but I’d soon pass him again, then not see him for the rest of the afternoon. I’d reach the next shelter with time to rest and relax, filter water, prepare dinner, and spread out my bag for the night. Then, usually around sunset, or even later, in the settling darkness, “Moses” would be the last one to arrive at camp, moving at that steady snail’s pace. In the dark, he would set up his tent, cook a quick meal, then go right to bed. To do it all again the next day.
I admired “Moses.” I knew how challenging each day’s miles and mountains were for me; and, to me, there was something noble about the way “Moses” faced the challenges of each day, with determination and without complaint.
On one occasion when I caught up with him as he was eating his pop-tarts, I found a rock to rest myself and my pack against for a few moments. As he picked at broken pieces of his cold pop-tarts, he said to me, “I was just thinking how fortunate I am to be able to be out here, seeing all this; enjoying this beautiful day, having food to eat and able to rest when I need. And I find myself asking, ‘Why me?'”
I was shocked to hear those words in that context. I mean, I understood exactly what he meant. I, too, felt moments of overwhelming gratitude to be having the experience I was living.
But, “Why me?” had always been uttered as the tone of a victim–powerless and suffering. Never before had I heard the question asked from a place of gratitude and appreciation. And wonder.
I thought about that a lot that day, and since–the wonder we feel when we receive benevolence we just don’t think we deserve. That we tell ourselves we haven’t earned.
If there’s a higher power in the Universe, I want to believe that it loves me, unconditionally. Yet, I often question whether I’m deserving of that kind of love.
Maybe the love we get isn’t always the love we’ve earned or the love we deserve. Maybe what we get is the love that we need.
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