The Hidden Path (WINNER OF THE BEAUTY AWARD for Spiritual)

A Serious Question

And now here is my secret, a very simple secret; it is only with the heart that one can see rightly, what is essential is invisible to the eye.

- Antoine de Saint-Exupéry: The Little Prince

"Daddy, why is the sky blue?" The little 6-year-old, brown haired girl asked her father.

The tall, dark haired, bearded man considered the question before gazing at his daughter as the two walked together: "It's because the air we breathe filters the light of the sun."

The little girl, myself at the age of six nodded sagely, her bob bouncing. I was, however, already thinking about the next question. It took me a few more, strenuous steps to come up with one, as I was momentarily distracted by the discomfort in my legs that resulted from having to scale the slope of an excruciatingly tall mountain.

Not my favorite pastime.

But unfortunately that of my parents!

Which was why - almost every Sunday - you would find our little family somewhere in the Alps, attempting to reach one peak or another.

Much to my displeasure, as this meant getting up at the crack of dawn, driving to the foot of a mountain, climbing all the way up only to be forced to walk all the way down again and drive back home. All in one day! On the only day of the week, when I did not have to go to school. The only day, when I could otherwise have reveled in the pleasures of sleeping in. The only day without any obligations. The only day. . . well, I guess you get the gist. . .

Unfortunately for me, I was severely outnumbered in my dislike of our Sunday excursions, as Christina, my younger sister by three years, appeared not to mind. For some unfathomable reason.

Mum and Dad were staunch believers in the idea that hiking was really healthy for us, and I guess they truly enjoyed it, ...but I honestly could not have cared less! True, the mountains my parents chose for us to hike were neither too steep nor too dangerous. But - unlike the rest of my family - I was simply not the outdoorsy type. Quite the contrary, actually.

Which is why, on Saturday evenings, I would often spend a few minutes before going to bed praying to God. To make it rain the next day, so the weather would be too bad for any non-indoor activities such as. . . well, I think you can guess by now.

Judging by the sheer number of sunny or at least rainless Sundays, however, I suspected that my parents were probably praying for the opposite. And since there were two of them and only one of little me. . .

Sometimes, God did decide to listen to my prayers, but my parents would decree that the rain wasn't bad enough to make us stay at home. Therefore, we would go anyway, only this time equipped with raincoats and boots. Oh joy!

"Daddy, where do the clouds come from?" I asked when the next inspiration hit, raising my face up to the sky. To keep myself occupied during what I considered an ordeal, I would often throw question after question at my poor Dad.

"Whenever the sun shines on water, like lakes or rivers, it causes the water on the surface to evaporate and rise up into the sky, where it collects as clouds." My ever patient parent explained, extending his arm to help me surmount an exceptionally big piece of rock in our path. These question-answer sessions could go on for hours, and we would talk about everything under the sun, quite literally. But Dad never got annoyed with me. I sometimes suspected that, in some way, he maybe even enjoyed my inquisitive nature. 

Intrigued by the new tidbit of information that I had just received, I continued looking up into the clouds, stumbling a bit in the process. Dad was not too worried though, since my sister and I were used to moving about on the uneven paths winding up the various Austrian mountains. My parents had introduced us to hiking when we were still really small, Dad had even had to carry my little sister in a type of soft basket on his back at the time. Therefore, he was quite confident that I wouldn't lose my footing. Hours and hours of 'training' will do this for you. . .

Mum, however, was a different story. Had she seen me falter on my path, which, fortunately, she hadn't, since she and my sister were walking in front of us, she would have scolded us severely. Me, for being too careless and Dad for not paying enough attention.

"Daddy, is God almighty?" The question had suddenly popped into my head. I deeply breathed in the woodsy scent of the mountain pines growing all around us. We had cleared the tree-line about an hour prior, and I enjoyed the clean, fresh smell the air held up there in the mountains. But I would never have considered this enough incentive to want to climb up one. . .

My Dad glanced at me curiously, slightly surprised by my unusual choice of topic.

"Well ... yes, ...He is."

I pondered his reply for a moment. "So, if he is almighty, he should be able to make a rock, that is too heavy for him to carry." I looked at Dad expectantly. As before, the question had come completely out of the blue, but once I had voiced it, I was eager to hear Dad's opinion on the matter.

Frowning, he pushed his glasses up his nose, not replying immediately.

"I guess so," he finally muttered.

Putting one foot in front of the other, I pictured the scene in my head: an old man with a white beard and wrinkled face, bent over while trying with all his might but failing, to carry an enormous rock on his shoulders.

Suddenly it struck me:

"But then ... if there's a rock, that he cannot carry, then he is no longer almighty!" I exclaimed excitedly, surprised at my own realization. With baited breath, I waited for my Dad's answer.

Only this time, it didn't come. Dad seemed lost in his own thoughts.

I tried to wrap my mind around the whole concept, but got distracted by the alpine hut that had suddenly appeared in the distance, visible only after we had reached another of the countless high points on our path.

Lunchtime!

Still, somehow this question stayed with me for years, appearing in my mind every now and then. Because not only my Dad, nobody seemed to be able to solve the mystery.

Until much later.

I dedicate this chapter to linahanson, for being my first reader :) And for being the gifted author of the 'Cursed Times' series!