I remember getting all giddy and excited the first time that I saw the logo for the Vancouver Olympics (several months ago, before the current Winter Olympics ever got started).  It's silly, of course, to allow such emotion to be attached to a marketing device.  But the reason that I got excited about it was because I recognized the image right away as an inukshuk:  a Native American trail marker, which has become a powerful spiritual metaphor for my life through the years.

I initially learned about inukshuks at a gallery in downtown Chicago, in the late 1990s.  I was immediately fascinated by both their natural aesthetic beauty and the story behind their design.  A few years later, when Marci and I were first considering the possibility of moving to Amsterdam, the inukshuk came back to me as a powerful metaphor for following God's direction for our lives -- ultimately providing some of the faith and confidence that I needed to make a trans-Atlantic move.  And ever since then, the inukshuk has inspired me and encouraged me.  I've written rather extensively about inukshuks through the years -- in my journals and in sermons delivered on both sides of the Atlantic -- but it's just occurred to me, with this year's Winter Olympics in Vancouver, that I've never actually blogged about inukshuks.  So I thought that I might put together a mini-series on inukshuks as a spiritual metaphor.

For today, I thought I'd share a short story featuring inukshuks that I wrote back in 2002...

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It’s been a long hunt.  He began over a week ago, following the trail of the caribou herds northwest towards the Arctic Ocean.  And after a disappointing week of tracking and hunting, he is on his way home.  Unfortunately, the village is still a long ways off -- he estimates perhaps another full day’s journey.  His supplies are running low, and he is hungry because he has been rationing his food supply for the past day and half -- ever since it became clear that he would not be returning with fresh meat.  He is tired and alone.  And he is starting to worry that he’s lost.

The surrounding landscape offers little reassurance.  For miles and miles in every direction, the flat arctic tundra spreads out like a cold gray blanket.  Broad fields of stone and ice, moss and lichen -- there is very little to look at, and even less to mark the way home.  The hunter has a vague sense that he is traveling in the right direction, but nagging doubts persist and it is difficult to be certain in regards to his heading.  He looks behind him, in hopes of finding reassurance that he is going the right way -- but he can find none of the landmarks that have guided him to this point; they are all far behind him, blended into the flat desolate wasteland.  He can do nothing but press ahead in the direction that he thinks to be the proper path.  Straining his eyes toward the southeast horizon, he walks onward… continuing by faith and instinct...

And then he sees it.  It is still a long ways off -- its form difficult to make out over such a great distance, but unmistakable nonetheless.  He is encouraged to see it, and his step quickens in the direction of the distant shape.  As he approaches, he’s able to see more clearly and there’s no mistaking the fact that he has found the next inukshuk.

Walking up to the structure, the hunter smiles and then stops to sit on his pack for a moment and gaze upon the inukshuk in front of him.  It is simply a pile of stones, loosely arranged in the shape of a human figure, rising from the desolate landscape.  It is plain and basic, but its design is unmistakable -- obviously erected by hunters before him, standing solid and keeping vigil to direct the lonely traveler on his way back to the village.  It is called an inukshuk -- meaning “image of a man’s spirit.”  His people, the Inuit, have used inukshuks for many generations to mark the best and safest passages through the wilderness.  Their individual forms are unique -- varying according to the available materials -- but in every case, they are of distinctly human design, never to be mistaken for a natural rock formation...

By studying the placement and design of the inukshuk, reading the orientation of the stones as if they were a map, the hunter is able to once again determine that he is, in fact, on the right trail.

He must still travel a great distance before he will reach his village, but it is good to be reassured of the direction that he is going.  Chewing a small portion of dried meat, he stands up and shoulders his pack again.  It will be getting dark soon, and he still has a lot of ground to cover if he wants to make it home by tomorrow night.

Placing his hand on the cold stone “shoulder” of the inukshuk, as if to say good-bye, he turns away and begins to trudge onward in the direction of his village, faithfully plodding along the vague path that was marked out for him by the inukshuk -- waiting and trusting for the next inukshuk to guide him yet another step closer to home.

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In my next post, I'll explain more of why the inukshuk has taken on such spiritual significance for me and what it teaches me about the life of faith.  So stay tuned...