On a hilltop in Fiji
I was raised strapping on shiny black Mary Janes every Sunday morning. Sitting on pews hard enough they should’ve instilled better posture, we heard stories of floods, stone tablets, and a good man slung on a cross.
But I didn’t know you could actually feel God.
One summer, racking up student loans, I spent a semester in Fiji participating in an archaeology field school. Sun-soaked at Sigatoka Sand Dunes National Park, we brushed sand from our eyes, ears, and the seaside pits.
I learned a few things on this adventure. First, archaeology is more boring than a nun’s funeral. Second, don’t slop coconut oil on your bare, pale breasts and lie on the beach for your whole day off. Third, God can slip into your soul and overwhelm you at the weirdest of moments.
During the week we spent long days hoping to find ceramic sherds from the early Lapita period. But on weekends side-trips were arranged and took us around the island. Bouncing in the bed of rusty trucks we were taxied to places such as the Waidracia Village in the Naitasiri Highlands of Viti Levu.
We spent most of the daylight hours exploring the warrior hill clan Siko-Natabutale huts and the nearby jungle. We spied wild banana trees and recoiled at spiders bigger than our fists. Later, cross-legged on dirt floors, we munched cassava and shared grog.
Another day trip involved spelunking in guano-filled darkness. Beneath our hiking boots was poop—thousands of years’ worth of what had been expelled from the endangered Fijian Free-tailed bats dangling overhead. Later that day a visit to a mountaintop vista that overlooked the ocean.
At once I saw everything and nothing.
I don’t remember what was at the top—save for an exceptional view and an incomparable experience. I wish I could recall more vividly the trail leading up the steep slope covered in outcrops sharp enough to stub knees and twist ankles. What I do remember is a tropical breeze dancing across my neck and cheeks as I reached the peak. Reflected sun and shades of blue that melded ocean and sky were momentarily blinding.
At once I saw everything and nothing. And, without warning, as I twirled about the panorama, my entire being felt fulfilled. Deep into my core, a sense of baffling joy exploded, and my tear ducts were doing overtime.
I knew it was God. How? I can’t unravel or explain it. I just knew. I discovered that day in Fiji that God can actually be felt.
©Jennifer J. McDougall 2022