This summer I was so excited when my brother-in-law invited me to join him and my sister to hike the Crestone Needle. After spending the last three summers as a backpacking guide, I had heard of the Needle. In my mind, it was epic, the hardest and highest honor to peak. This class three peak rose above 14,000 feet. Sitting near the Great Sand Dunes surrounded by mountains, the view is sure to make your heart skip a beat.
So when they invited me to join them, I couldn’t stop talking about it. But if I was really honest with myself, my chatter came from a place of fear rather than excitement about the pending hike. I’ve been a backpacking guide for the past three summers, so my family has the impression that I’m an expert and know everything there is to know about the outdoors. In reality, though, when I take out trips, we barely do any hiking in a day. We’re much more about the content than the miles.
As we were getting ready to drive out to the base of the Needle, I opened up about my fears to my mom. We ended up talking about how everything in life is a fight right now, from climbing this mountain all the way down to getting out of bed in the morning. I’m currently climbing my own personal mountain and in that moment it felt like not only was the peak covered by a thick cloud but there was no trail to even reach the cloud-covered peak.
As much as I wanted to stay home and hide that weekend, I knew I had to climb that mountain, God had something at the top. Something big.
The plan: hike in 4.5 miles to a high elevation lake where we camp for the night before climbing the last 2.5 miles to the peak the next morning. As we approached and started the initial ascent, I was in inner turmoil. My fear was screaming at me, my nerves begging me to turn around, to back out. My body felt weak, slow, and heavy before we even hit the trail. As we ran into one disaster after another, my dread built up and tied my stomach in knots.
I prayed for snow that night.
But as morning came, the sky was cloudless and the air was warm. The perfect day for a 14er, much to my dismay. Left with no realistic options, I found myself climbing up the mountain in the early dawn with my climbing party. Not 20 minutes in, my dad asked me how I was doing. Startled out of my inner ranting, I blurted out my thoughts, “I’m feeling weak.” I couldn’t tell you the conversation we had as we climbed – I was lost in the conversation in my head. “I am so tired” led to “I don’t know how I’m ever going to make it up this massive mountain” and then “I can’t do this on my own” made me jump tracks and I realized my inner monologue was true of the mountain but even more painfully true of my life. I can’t do it on my own.
So instead of talking to myself, I talked to God. I simply told him I can’t do it on my own. I asked him to get me there, to be my strength. And you know what? Somehow we got up that mountain. And it was breathtaking, this beautiful, glorious feeling of triumph! It was hard, but every time I started to get tired or discouraged I took it back to God. I asked him to get me there, just a few more steps.
The strength to get up that mountain did not come from me. God carried me up the mountain that day.
He does in real life, too. I’m getting better at remembering that. I’m still climbing that mountain covered in clouds. I’ve reached a false summit, not sure how many more there may be, but I’ll keep going.
Life is full of hard climbs to peaks. As I take little steps, I ache to summit the final peak, to step into eternity with my maker. It comforts me to think that I was made for more, to be with God, my friend, my sustainer, and the lover of my soul. Along the way, I will marvel at the trail, and rejoice that I don’t have to take a single step in my own strength.
The Humble Chef 