I love to hike. At least, that’s what I tell myself.
I love nature, exploring, being outside, the view from the top, hammocking somewhere off the side of the trail, the picnic, the solitude or the company of friends… basically, I like everything but the actual climb.
The thing is, I always forget this… until about 30 minutes into whatever behemoth of a thing I’ve decided to scramble to the top of. That’s not the best time to remember you don’t like something.
So here I am, Cape Town, South Africa, and I’ve somehow gotten the bright idea to get up early and climb this thing that, by all accounts, looks STRAIGHT. UP. Two of my teammates, Sam and Ellie, got up with me at 7, full of vigor and unrealistic expectations that, “this is gonna be fun!” We went straight to the base of the mountain, I instagrammed my classic pic of my “adventure shoes,” and we were off.
For the record, Ellie is incredibly fit and Sam is not far behind. (Years horse wrangling the Grand Tetons doesn’t leave you too shabby!) I’m in the company of these girls, clearly at the back of the pack, but 0% worried. (I should have been worried.)
We start off down the pavement towards the trail. At the trail head the sign read “2.5 hours.” We heard some of our squad leaders did it in about an hour. This should be easy! (Said squad leaders who did this thing in about an hour are some of the fittest on our squad. Big red flag.) We set out on the at a brisk pace… too brisk. About 5 minutes in conversation has stopped and I’m breathing steadily. 5 minutes more and I’m huffing and puffing. 5 minutes further and I’m already asking myself, “what the heck were you thinking??”
At 20 minutes, we take our first stop. My legs are on fire, I’m trying not to guzzle my water, and we are looking at little specks of people about a third of the way up from us — who haven’t even hit the steep part yet.
Ellie takes one swig of water and is back to the trail; Sammy close behind. I take a deep breath, resign myself to the brutality this climb is going to be, stick my head down and start again.
About this time I’m remembering the brutality that was my two-day hike up a volcano in Guatemala; the time I actually thought I was going to die.
All that pain and all those times I asked myself, “WHY are you doing this?!” rushed back into my mind and I quickly stopped trying to convince myself I was hardcore enough to do this and just tried to focus on finishing it.
Ellie and Sammy are sprinting ahead of me at this point and my effort to keep up means I’m blowing past everything. It’s one foot in front of the other, “don’t think about your legs,” “don’t think about how hot it is,” “don’t think about how much farther you have to go.” Finally Sam has to stop for her breath and I’m relieved to not be the only one dying at Ellie’s pace. Ells kept going and Sammy and I rested together before picking back up again. We round a corner and what had been relatively steep dirt trail suddenly became stairs; MAJOR stairs. Endless “s” curves of MAJOR stairs.
I ran out of water about halfway up and found myself sucking on an apple to get enough moisture to keep up the climb.
We started early, but not early enough.
The sun was beating down and it was hot. I was roasted by the time the hike was over, and at one point I sat down on a rock and thought about how if they had a cable car from that point and charged just as much from there to the top as they do from the very bottom, they would make just as much money. It was brutal to finish, and I took about an hour longer than Ellie (who sat and waited for me at the top…) but that view…
(Photo cred: Sam Cook)
I’m one of those weird people that tries to find Jesus in everything. (Refer to THIS blog if you doubt me in the slightest.)
I found myself laughing as I realized how much me gasping for air on this mountain was parallel to my spiritual walk.
Here is what I learned:
Sometimes, I hit flat or shady places and just power through them to get to the top; or worse, moan about them because it doesn’t feel like progress. He gives us little places of breathing room before the next steep point, places meant to refuel us and prepare us for the next part of the journey, and I’m over here going, “it’s flat! We’ve stopped going up! I’m not growing! We’ll never get there!”
Yeah. Bad attitude. What happened to being thankful and enjoying the respite?
For an overachiever like me? Not sure. That’s something I need to work on.
(Conviction number one.)
I look down the whole time and always miss the view. I spend my entire hike one-foot-in-front-of-the-other and never look up because I don’t want to be discouraged by how much farther I have to go. Since when is the journey just about the destination? How much does it honor The Father if all I’m focusing on is how to get there and not at all on the time with Him?
(Conviction number two.)
Sometimes the journey isn’t all about the view from the top. Once we got up there we had two options; turn to the right for the overlook, the restaurant and gift shop, and the cable car back down, or turn left to continue the hike and actually explore the table top you just climbed up to see. How often do I spend all my effort climbing to the top and than expecting a reward?
(Conviction number three.)
Usually, actually always, the top of the struggle isn’t “arriving.” It’s preparation for whatever lies ahead. Turning left the hike was easier than before, but it was barren and desolate and far fewer people journeyed that way. The view was far more spectacular from there than from where everyone else went; you just don’t know that unless you trek over there to find out. The choice, however, is up to you.
(Conviction number four.)
We can choose to be content with where we are and what we’ve achieved, but there’s always more if we’re willing to follow. When you’re tired from a long climb, that’s where the courage is required.
During songs and prayers and sermons, given the choice, I’ve always prayed for God to take me to new depths instead of new heights. It seemed like the more “spiritually mature” thing to do.
“New heights”seems like superficial, temporary spiritual highs with the Lord, whereas “new depths” is rootedness, steadfastness, and anchoring in His goodness, love, etc., so you can pour it out to others.
There’s nothing shabby about the heights because it’s a LOT of work to get there. There’s an anchoring and reinforcing He does in your spirit on the way to the heights, too, maybe even more than the depths sometimes.
(Conviction number five.)
Basically, don’t spit on the journey He’s taking you on. He planned out the rests and climbs based on what He knows will grow and challenge you.
Don’t rush through it to get to the top because it’s about the journey with Him, not arriving. It’s not gonna happen.
Choose to keep walking when the journey gets hard, there’s always farther and higher to go. He’s the Good Shepard, sure-footed and strong. Let Him do the leading and peek up sometimes to see how far you’ve come and where He’s leading you.
The view is worth it.
