The Mountain Climb

I got up early and looked out my window. Staring at me was the mountain. Big. Intimidating. High. Massive. Intruding. Dominating the landscape. There was no avoiding it. It stood in my way before I even attacked the day. That mountain could not be ignored. Neither could it be avoided. I would have to deal with the mountain one way or another.

I walked outside after dressing, slipping on a pack and squared my shoulders. I set my gaze on the mountain. I looked up at the peak in the far away distance. Then I heard the faintest whisper of God beckoning me upward. I prayed for the resolve to traverse to the top and over on the other side. After some praying I began my initial ascent.

Initially the climb didn't offer much challenge. The paths worn smooth by other climbers worked upward in switchback patterns. Still each step elevated a little higher than the last one. Before long the heart pumped harder and breaths shortened and were heavier. By this time I had only made my way up a fraction to the top.

In a slow methodic pace I continued the climb. I noticed several other climbers. We exchanged pleasantries but all continued at their own pace. Some stragglers sat along the way. They sought to distract me. They discouraged me from attempting to climb higher saying the way was too steep and too difficult to continue. I listened to their impassioned pleas for me to turn back and yet I felt God beckoned me to continue the climb. Onward I went.

The higher I went the less trampled the path became. It seemed fewer people went past the initial ascent before turning back. Every so often I saw signs that others had passed this way before me. Some even left notes of encouragement to inspired people like me to continue the climb. "You can do it." "Look how far you have already come." "You're making great progress." "Stay the course." This proved a far different message than the distractors below.

I continued the climb. The way grew steeper. The burning in my legs screamed for me to stop. My back begged me to sit down and take a break. My feet burned like they were on fire. My lungs screamed for more air. The voice of God called me upward.

The higher I went the fewer signs I noticed that others had been there before. Soon the way became so steep I could no longer see the summit. The summit was obscured by the mountain itself. Now I had to actually climb. Over rocks. Up boulders. Across narrow passes. I was too high to get down easily. I was too low to even be close to the summit.

Each step become labor. Each grip of my hands felt raw and shaky. I had to take momentary breaks to recover my wind and strength to keep going. Faintly through the trees I could hear the still small voice of God calling me higher. Higher than I felt comfortable, safe or secure. Higher away from others.

My mind played tricks on me. All I could think of was turning back. It seemed impossible to go any higher especially alone. Then I heard a voice. At first I thought it was just in my imagination. I heard the voice again and just ahead I saw a man. He looked rugged. He had a head full of hair and full unkempt beard. He looked like he belonged on the mountain. I made my way to him and set down for a spell. He looked determined. Hard. Strong. Yet kind. He had kind eyes and I felt I could trust him.

He offered me some food and drink. He wanted to know my story. Why had I ventured up so high on the mountain he queried. I knew my answer would sound silly to such a rugged experienced mountain man. Sheepishly I said, "I heard God calling me up." The man bent over slapping his knee in laughter shouting, "Me too! Me too! It happened years ago and I have been on this mountain since then."

I asked, "You mean you have never come down this mountain since you started your expedition up it many years ago." He smiled and nodded affirmatively. "What's at the top? Have you been to the summit?" Again he smiled. He did not answer whether he made it to the top but he did say, "You will have to find out what's up there for yourself."

We passed away the time swapping stories and he invited me into his tent for the night. He offered me a warm blanket and a soft pack for a pillow. He lifted up a prayer for the both of us before drifting off to sleep. At first my mind got bombarded with questions. Who was this guy? Could I truly trust Him? How far had he climbed? What did he discover? Why had he never leeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeft....zzzzzzzzzzzzz. I slept soundly and peacefully.

When I awoke the next morning Paul, my host, had just finished cooking a fine mountain breakfast. We had bacon, eggs, biscuits and some hot chocolate. He encouraged me to eat well for I had a lot of difficult climbing ahead. He shocked me when he informed that God had instructed him to guide me upward. With that he handed me a well worn leather book. He told me that book was a guide for climbing. He had an extra copy and gave it to me for keeps. He told me the book had been written by other seasoned climbers. Those authors included tips of warning, words of inspiration, practical ways to navigate the challenges of the mountain and a proven road map to the summit. I carefully shut the book and put it in my pack.

Paul and I broke camp and started upward. Paul climbed like a deer. Sure footed. Vice like grip. I could barely keep up. At times he assisted me by offering a helping hand or a rope to pull me upward. He did not talk much as we climbed. He seemed focused. Distant. Driven. The only times he spoke included asking if I was okay.

The previous day proved a walk in the park compared to the climbing we had to do. From time to time I stopped to catch my breath. I looked down and could not make out civilization from those lofty heights. Yet when I looked overhead all I could see was the mountain. I wearied more easily than Paul. He knew it and intentionally slowed the pace.

Our days began to form a routine. He led the way. We stopped a few times to eat. Each evening we made camp for the night and gathered around a campfire. I always had questions. Endless questions. Paul had a loving gentle nature. He seldom answered my questions outright. He kept pointing me to my mountain climbing guide. I began reading more. Learning more. Fascinated by those who had gone before us. After days of climbing, camping and reading I turned a page one evening and low and behold I saw that Paul had written part of the climbing guide. He never let on once he contributed to that guide. While Paul was confident he also exuded deep humility.

The pattern continued for days. Weeks maybe. I lost track of time. Consumed with this desire to get to the top. Each time I asked Paul what was up there he told me I would have to discover that for myself. I could not believe how long we climbed. Still I never could see the summit. I knew it existed because I saw it from afar when I was still on flat ground back home.

Periodically I would hear the still soft voice of God calling me to come higher. He usually encouraged me with something or inspired me with sights from our lofty perch.

One morning Paul and I awoke to our same routine. I never knew where he got the food for us to eat but each day we had sufficient portions to help us climb. On this particular day Paul seemed pensive deep in thought. When I arose to start breaking camp he ushered me to sit back down. He informed me that he could go no further with me. God had informed he needed to go back down and help another climber up. I would be on my own the rest of the way. Somberly we packed and he started back down. He left me some provision and exhorted me to stay in my mountain climbing guide. He told me I would find everything I needed to know for the rest of the climb there.

I felt alone. There was no one to talk to. Nobody to ask questions of except God in prayer. My fellowship now turned heavenward. I conversed with God more. I listened more. I lost track of all else. Still I felt compelled to climb higher. Ever higher. Slowly higher. Laboriously higher. Harder and higher I inched forward and upward it seemed.

Somewhere along the way I contented myself in the climb. I felt more and more at home on the mountain than I had ever felt down below.

Exhausted one night I pitched my small tent and fell asleep immediately. I dreamed about Paul. I dreamed about what awaited me at the summit. And then awoke. The night appeared to pass in just moments. I awoke disoriented like can happen after falling into a deep sleep. When my eyes adjusted to the morning light everything looked familiar and yet strangely out of place. I awoke back in my house in my bedroom. I saw the same furniture, the same pictures on the wall. The same bed and covers. Sleeping peacefully Brenda lay next to me.

Bewildered I thought, "What in the world? Where is the mountain? How did I get down here?" I mulled this over and then it dawned on me. It had all been a dream. A very realistic dream. But what did it mean?

God made it all clear. The mountain was God. The climb was my life growing closer to God and knowing Him more. My guide was the Apostle Paul. My climbing guide was the Bible. The summit was God in all of His glory and splendor. God's call on my life is to keep climbing toward the summit that I will never reach. Nor anyone else. We will never discover all there to know about God. Once we start the climb we will devote the rest of our lives to keep climbing. God is a mountain that can never be topped. O but the adventures and encounters that await us on the climb.

Will you climb the mountain that is God today? Will you help others on their climb as well? It the quest of a lifetime. It is our ultimate purpose. It is a quest that will take an entire lifetime. May we assiduously devote ourselves to the quest of this mountain climb.