Last summer I went backpacking for four days around Snowgrass Flats with my friends Calia Clark and Sarah Reimche-Vu.
For two days we clambered up steep hills studded with wildflowers and swaying firs, slept under the night sky as shooting stars streaked past and woke to a world covered in glittering dew drops and the scent of hot cocoa. It was one of the greatest adventures I have ever taken part in, but it was not all rainbows and sunshine. No, all truly great adventures must hold some hardship.
Sarah and I had never been backpacking before, so we struggled mightily. Our boots were not worn in correctly, so our feet bled. Our sleeping mats were too thin, so we got cold in the freezing night air. We didn’t apply enough sunscreen, so we got sun poisoning — always wear sunscreen, people! We didn’t drink enough water, so we got dehydrated.
The harsh sun, freezing mountain air and new shoes tested our strength, but at the end of each day we watched as the sun waved good night over the gilded alpine slopes, listened to the sleepy chirping of birds, laughed with each other until our faces ached and thought maybe that small amount of suffering was worth the reward.
On the third day we decided it would be super cool to climb Goat Mountain. Now this mountain was rightly titled because it looks as though one can only scale its face if one is a goat.
Not seeming to notice that we are not of the animal variety, my friends started their foray to the crest of this tall, jagged mountain, riddled with rotten rock and sliding shale sheets. Everyone is born with four great fears, the primordial fears: darkness, heights, predators, death and isolation. My main primordial fear is of heights.
So, as we slipped and slid up Goat Mountain, I was shaking so hard my teeth chattered. But I wanted to reach the peak, wanted to look out over the world and feel a sense of accomplishment. It was in this way — them leading and me following — that we continued until we reached a cliff face.
My friends scrambled up it as though they were part monkey, but I was rooted at the foot of the cliff, too scared to move. My heart beat too fast, my teeth slammed against each other, and my breath wheezed in and out of me. I was just thinking I had better wait for them at the base of the cliff when I looked up.
Calia had lain down on the cliff ledge and I could just make out her face peering at me from far above.
“Come on, Janelle,” she called, “I’ll tell you where the best hand and foot holds are. All you have to do is trust me.”
I didn’t even hesitate, grabbing the first hand hold she pointed out and pulling myself up to place my foot where she directed me to. And so, I climbed until I reached the halfway point — and looked down. Again my heart beat too fast, my teeth slammed against each other, and my breath wheezed in and out of me. The only thing holding me to that cliff face was — me. There was no one to catch me, nothing at the bottom to break my fall.
And then Calia called out to me again, “Don’t look down there, Janelle, just keep your eyes on me and follow my directions.”
For the rest of that climb I stayed focused on my friend’s voice and put my hands and feet where she told me to. When I finally reached the top, Calia grabbed my arm and helped me over the lip of the cliff. I stood on top of that tall, jagged mountain, arm-in-arm with my friends as we looked out over the wide, forested valley with the wind billowing around us and the sun casting its golden glow.
I had made it, not of my own will, not of my own strength, but by trusting my friends to get me to the top.
On that high outcropping I thought, “Isn’t this just like what God does for us?” He sees us in our struggles and calls out to us, hoping that we will trust Him enough to battle our fears and climb to Him. When we stumble, He asks us to keep our eyes on Him no matter what. And when we reach the summit, He pulls us over the cliff ledge and says, “Well done my good and faithful servant.”
