The invitation was extended.
In typical reactionary form, I said, “No way.”

Then curiosity crept in and I began asking questions.
Somehow those questions led to a date on the calendar.
What was I thinking?
I can’t do this.

With an unfamiliar internal struggle, I both dreaded and anticipated this day for the next month.
Opportunities came to back out and I almost yielded to each one.
In fact, I nearly convinced myself that my fears could’ve been gut-instinct-warnings that this was stupid for a mother of three young, dependent children.
But another voice kept whispering, “You need to do this… for bigger reasons than just a hike.”

Alas, 6:30am Saturday morning, August 13th.
It was time.
I had cried the night before, and I cried again as I prayed that morning.
Even on this very morning the opportunity to back out presented itself. But no.
By this point I was determined to face this giant, even if she did mock my weakness, expose my fears, and leave me humiliated by failure to summit.

Hello, Engineer Mountain.

No, it’s not Everest, K2, McKinley, or even a “14-er”.
By comparison, this is no giant.
For many this hike is a walk in the park.

But – for me – this “13-er” was a giant.
Far beyond my comfort zone.
Way beyond my experience.
Longer than I wanted to travel.
More exposed than what seemed safe.
Rising further from the ground than I ever wanted to be.

The sight of it’s peak made my stomach turn ever time I would see it.
I can’t do this…

Looking at the exposed face of what appeared to be an impossible climb brought tears to my eyes.
I’m not going to make it to the top – this is as far as I can go.

But.
One step led to another step.
One hand hold led to another hand hold.

 

 

And then… There I stood.
The summit.

Surrounded by what seemed like a hundred other mountain peaks bowing down to this one that I was standing on.

Such joy!
Such exhilaration!
Such relief.

I looked up at the clouds that seemed closer than ever.
I couldn’t help but wonder, How much higher is Heaven? Where are you, God?
And, that same voice that encouraged me to climb this mountain in the first place seemed to whisper back, answering my question, “I’m right here with you.”

In that mountain-top experience, the Lord exchanged my “I’m too afraid” with His “Fear not, for I am with you.”
And after descending, when I looked back at that Engineer Mountain-peak, I couldn’t help but feel like a little David who’d just defeated his Goliath.

 

Obviously that hike is over.
But the lessons learned remain, and I hope they’ll continue to stir courage for me to face other giants in the future.

 

Lesson #1: Enjoy The Journey

Don’t get so focused on the summit that you miss the beauty of the meadow.
Smell the flowers. Look around. Enjoy the people you’re traveling with.
Yes, God gives us assignments, tasks, goals, and missions to accomplish in life –
but don’t get so caught up in accomplishing and conquering that you miss the simple joys and fellowship along the way.

 

Lesson #2: Take Breaks, Get Refueled

You’ll take the fun right out of the hike if you don’t take breaks, stop to catch your breath, and eat some snacks.
We need rest to regain strength.
We need replenishment to remain vibrant.
We need refueling in order to keep going.
I’ve watched people race up and down Mt. Marathon in Seward, Alaska.
It’s brutal. Racers come down bloody and broken, sometimes handicapped for life.
That’s a reality in this particular race – but that’s not life.

Life is not a competitive race to the finish line where we’re judged by who made it to the top and got the fastest time.
When we turn life into a vicious race we, too, end up hurting ourselves, pushing others out of our way, and missing out on the views along the way.

 

Lesson #3: Things Often Look Worse Than They Really Are

I almost gave up. I peeked out at the exposed face and thought “there’s nothing to hold onto!”
Then, I risked stepping out and discovered it wasn’t as scary as it looked.
No, there wasn’t much to hold onto, but there was enough.
How often is this the case in life?
We look at something staring us in the face and instead of courage we feel fear.
We conclude there is not enough security to outweigh the risk.
But how often might we discover that things aren’t as scary as they appear –
if we’re willing step into the unknown to find out.

 

Lesson #4: The Mountain-Top Experience Was Worth It All

The view was unparalleled.
Layers upon layers of mountain peaks.
Miles and miles to the edge of the horizon.
To realize that the majority of people on planet Earth will never see what we were getting to see was humbling.
And, on top of that mountain, you long for everyone you love to be standing beside you sharing in the experience.
All the hard work, all the hurdles, any aches and pains become lost in beauty and elation.

In life, we may be blessed to experience a handful of mountain-top experiences.
Linger there if you can. Take it all in.
Smell. Taste. See. Touch. Listen.
Because…

 

Lesson #5: You Have To Come Down Off The Mountain

Life, real life, isn’t lived on the mountain top.
You don’t get the same adrenaline rush when you change a poopy diaper – even if you are really afraid of it.
You won’t experience euphoria when you come home from the same job you’ve been doing for twenty years.
But faithfulness in the routine and mundane is just as valuable (maybe even more so) as courage is in the face of fear and risk.
Adrenaline junkies know how addicting it can be to conquer mountains, face fears head on, and push the human body to it’s limits.

But more often than not, just like Moses experienced, we come down from the mountain – face all aglow from being in the presence of the Lord – only to find that the people who need us most, need us to lead them through a desert, through a wilderness, and into the promised land – not up a mountain.

Lord, thank you for mountain-top experiences. Where perspectives are so vastly different from those in the valleys. Where the thrill of adventure and the sense of accomplishment are observable. But, Lord, thank you even more for the descent back to where life is lived day-in and day-out, faithfully breathing in your grace and breathing out your praise (even while changing poopy diapers and punching the clock).