Her Wild Ways - Part V
A 7-part series following a Modern Goddess-in-Training stumbling towards the Divine
“Give us this day our daily bread” - Translated from the original Aramaic:
Provide us today with the nourishment—physical, emotional, and spiritual—that we genuinely need for our full flourishing.
The third confrontation arrived quietly. Like the others, I did not recognize it at first. On Iona, three of us decided to walk to St. Columba’s Bay, a remote cove believed to be the landing place where St. Columba and his monks arrived in 563 AD to establish their monastic community.
The trail was described as moderately challenging. The island had its own definition of moderate. The path was wet, uneven, and endlessly alive. Wind pushed against us. Sheep watched us pass. As usual, mud pulled at our boots. We moved carefully through the landscape. Earlier that morning, fragments of a poem had appeared in my mind:
Beauty before me…
Beauty behind me…
I could not remember where I knew it from. When I searched the words later, I discovered they came from a traditional Navajo prayer I had likely encountered in grade school. I had no idea the words would become more than comforting, but necessary.
After several miles, we crested a hill. Below us was an impossible landscape. Two crescent-shaped bays curved into the coastline. The machair—the rare coastal grassland of western Scotland—was covered with blue wildflowers. Rust-colored cows and their calves grazed peacefully among them. It looked like a place invented by someone trying to describe beauty. But it was simply Scotland.
Instead of heading directly down to the beach, we followed another path. Or perhaps the path chose us. The sheep trails curved through the hills, and we trusted them to guide us home. For a while, it felt like the right decision. Then the hills kept coming. One ridge became another. One path became another. Every time we climbed, expecting to see our destination, we found only more landscape. We were lost.
There was something almost comical about it. Three women wandering through a Scottish wilderness like characters in an old cartoon, climbing one hill after another, convinced the answer would appear at the top. It did not. We had brought no food. Our water was running low. Someone found a packet of mints, and we began rationing them with exaggerated seriousness. Monette started feeling shaky. The Scottish splendor remained but our uncertainty grew.
Monette and I sat down to rest while Nicole went ahead to scout. When she returned, she offered two possibilities: Continue forward. Or cut back through a low valley. We chose the valley. Or maybe our bodies chose it for us. As we walked single file, Monette called out: “Now would be a good time for that walking prayer!” So, we began repeating the words as a call and response:
With beauty before me, may I walk.
With beauty behind me, may I walk.
With beauty below me, may I walk.
With beauty above me, may I walk.
With beauty all around me, may I walk.
The mantra urged us forward and reminded us that what we were experiencing was a privilege, a benediction. Eventually, it was the cows who showed us the way. The same rust-colored herd from earlier appeared again. Our long wandering loop had brought us back above St. Columba’s shoreline.
The entire journey was seven miles through wind, rain, rocks, hills, and valleys. Everything was stunning and strenuous. This was becoming the lesson. Beauty did not remove struggle. Beauty accompanied it. Something in my body was changing. I didn’t need certainty before moving forward. There was a quiet yes inside me. Not the reckless yes of youth but a steadier one. A yes that knew I could falter without falling. My feet kept moving.
One step.
Then another.
When we finally reached the road, I put my arm around Nicole’s shoulders as she began telling me a ridiculous story about Bahamian real estate drama. The sun slowly unfolded her loving rays and we laughed. It seemed right that the sun would peek through just as we could see our little village ahead. The mystery remained while our bodies had carried us exactly where we needed to go.
“Something shifted. She welcomed me as an equal. Not as someone searching for permission. Not as someone waiting to be chosen.”
“Everything was stunning and strenuous. This was becoming the lesson. . . .Something in my body was changing. I didn’t need certainty before moving forward. There was a quiet yes inside me. . . . A yes that knew I could falter without falling. My feet kept moving.”