Letting Go: Hiking the Observation Point Trail

For several weeks I pushed aside the fact that our daughter would be leaving. Her decision was no surprise; in her methodical way, our daughter spent much of this past year contemplating the option of serving a full-time mission for the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints. For eighteen months, she will live in another part of the country and devote her life to serving others, regardless of their beliefs. She will also teach
a Christ-centered message to any who choose to listen.

In late September, we dismissed the busyness of family life, work, and our daughter's mission preparations. She wanted to say good-bye to the majestic red-rock landscape that means home. We drove once more to Zion Canyon.

As we started up the trail towards Observation Point, my husband commented on how he felt the tension melt away. I too felt freed from daily concerns as I paused to show a cascade of maidenhair ferns and wildflowers to our daughter and youngest son. In this oasis from scorching summer heat, the hanging gardens near Weeping Rock had once again survived.

Watching my daughter pause to take photos or contemplate the scenery, I felt impressed by her courage mingled with acceptance of her vulnerability in the face of unknown challenges. Living in the southeast, she'll encounter coastal beaches instead of cacti and the tallest objects in the landscape will consist of skyscrapers and a freeway overpass. I smile, remembering how our oldest son described Houston and Louisiana while serving his mission.

After her return, our daughter hopes to visit Europe--especially Germany-- a place abounding in mountainside castles and a cradle of classical music. But she knows that this mission isn't about collecting souveneirs, visiting landmarks or making lists of tourist attractions. She is going forth to serve.

Knowing that we wouldn't have time to reach Observation Point, we lingered at several places, enjoying the scent of pinon pines, dramatic patterns cast by evening shadows and the fascinating shapes and textures of Echo Canyon.

It was nearly dark when we returned to the trailhead. Under the canopy of cottonwoods that were just beginning to turn gold, we sat in silence waiting for the next shuttle to arrive. It came, but our daughter asked if we could stay for just a few more minutes. It felt good to wait while the first stars pierced the narrow slice of cobalt sky far overhead.

Another shuttle arrived, heading down-canyon. We heard the folding doors creak open. Our daughter stood and said, "O.K."

We've said good-bye to another missionary, our oldest son. We've felt the same aching joy.

We can do it again.


Copyright 2011 by Nani Lii S. Furse