Walking With A Guide

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Wandering a trail high in the Andean mountains without a guide could easily lead to a wrong turn, a hazardous misstep, or missing the hidden beauty and meaning all around. You might pass vibrant flowers without knowing their names, miss birdsongs that carry beautiful melodies or walk past sacred stones steeped in centuries of history. On the Inca Trail, a guide isn’t optional—it’s essential.

Our guide’s name was Tomás.

A native of Cusco, Tomás perfectly embodied the spirit of the Andes—compact and strong, with bronzed skin, a wide smile, and an even wider heart. We met him the night before our trek, and he greeted us warmly and explained the journey ahead with such calm confidence that it quieted many of our apprehensions.

“Friends,” he said, “in Quechua, we have no word for ‘friend.’ So from now on, we are family, and I will be like your father.” At the time, it sounded sweet—perhaps something he says to every group he meets. But over the next four days, we realized he meant it in every way.

Tomás walked every step of the journey with us—never in a rush, never distracted. He noticed everything: who was falling behind, who was battling altitude sickness, who needed a laugh. His team reminded us to stay hydrated, to eat, and to rest. Tomás carried stories in his pack—tales of Incan kings, sacred valleys, Spanish conquistadors, the imposing Condor, and flowers that bloom only in specific microclimates. He loved his people. He loved his land. And slowly, we were folded into that love. He wasn’t just calling us family—we were becoming family.

The 26-mile trek was more challenging than any of us expected. Some wrestled with altitude sickness. Others battled stomach issues that sent them running to the “Inca toilets”—also known as the bushes—far more often than they’d like to remember. There were slips, falls, blisters, bruises, sleepless nights, and even growling dogs. The trail had no shortcuts, no access roads, and no emergency helicopters. If you couldn’t walk, you were carried out by horseback, on the early part of the trail; on the latter part of the trail, you went out on a stretcher hoisted by porters.

Through it all, Tomás never wavered. His peaceful, steady presence reminded me of Jesus. Kind. Attentive. Patient. Encouraging. Protective. Never pushing, always walking beside us. Guiding. Teaching. Noticing. Though he had walked the Inca trail 392 times, he still looked around with awe, marveling at God’s creation as if it were his first time. His wonder was contagious.

And somewhere between the steep climbs and rocky descents, I began to wonder: How many times has Jesus walked beside me like this—unseen but present, protecting me from dangers I couldn’t see, waiting for me to stop, catch my breath, and notice Him?

Tomás led us to Machu Picchu. Without him, we wouldn’t have made it. Jesus leads us, too—through valleys and over summits, through trials and solitary seasons. When we follow Jesus, the path might not always get easier, however, He promises we won’t face it alone. And in every steep climb or treacherous turn, Jesus is there—steady, watchful, and full of love. Always.