Weathering Heights

It's not that I haven't been here before - it's just that I haven't been here when it all looked this way. I always hike this place later in the summer when winter is untraceable but today, it's all still a blanket of snow. Up here in these majestic heights, spring is barely visible. Bushes are just beginning to sprout green-buds...a shocking change to what things look like a mere few miles down the valley. There, summer is in full swing with wildflowers everywhere and no signs of snow. Amazing what a bit of elevation will do. 

Looking around, I'm surprised at the view. It is still beautiful, but things aren't like I'm used to. I'm scheduled to take a friend hiking to a quiet lake, hidden in these mountains. It is one of my favorite places to show visitors when they come to this area because there's no place quite like it. God meets people in that tranquil setting. I wanted her to feel it, too. Walking over a mile just to reach the trailhead, I'm immediately met with an unexpected challenge: signs say to "stay on the trail," but there is no trail. The normally cascading-green valley is a complete snowfield. If we have any hopes of reaching the lake, we will have to make our way across it and simply aim in the general direction. I tell her to prepare for a more challenging climb than usual. 

Making my way slowly across, I'm shaking my head at the irony of it all: why does this suddenly feel like I'm living a metaphor of my recent life? 

Feet sink into the softening snow as sun peeps from out the clouds and warms the earth's surface. The trickle of melting can be heard beneath the layers of white - evidence that the cold of winter will not last forever. 

Renewal always comes, however long we may have to wait in silence for it. 

Partway across the valley, all indications of a trail have disappeared. We are simply aiming for the ridge upon which the lake sits. We have nothing to guide us except my prior experience and the footprints of others who attempted this hike in these conditions. I'm reminded that we never walk the journey of life in uncharted territory. It may be unfamiliar to us, but many others have trod this same way before us, leaving places in which to plant our feet as we go. 

Suddenly, snowpack gives way and I sink down all the way to my knee. Summoning strength, I pull myself out of this hole, realizing that the footing here isn't as sure as I expected. More post holes may await us ahead. I find it all so wild - the sun is burning-hot even as my shoes are now growing wet with snow-cold. This is Alaska - land of extremes. This is also life. 

We trudge on. 

Sometime later, lungs heaving and hearts thumping, we see a piece of the trail on which to walk for aways. Thankful to be standing on solid ground for once, I think of how this is literally the only indication to us that we are headed the right way. There is just enough of the path to show us the general direction even as we are also having to blaze our own trail where there is none. 

Sometimes life's trail seems to disappear, leaving us to wonder if we are going the right way. It is only the glimpses occasionally offered us along the journey that affirm we are still headed where we need to go. 

Reaching a giant boulder field en route to the top, the way to this lake gets even more challenging. Rocks can shift. We feel some move slightly under our feet as we attempt to slowly make our way on up. Occasionally, we even climb higher, above the snowpack, just to get on some dirt and grass in hopes of better footing. But we are on the side of a mountain and no step is without risk. 

Carefully making our way along, we eventually reach the narrow ridge that leads to the lake. I have always battled a serious fear of heights - not always in all locations but often where I feel there is nothing to catch me. Nothing to hold me if I slip. Maybe fear of falling is more accurate. Somehow, even that fear can't keep me from my mountains. There is something alluring to me about the perspective I gain in the heights, however painful it may be to reach them. 

This path on the final part of the climb is always narrow but today, it feels particularly so with snow covering it. I know there are rocks beneath that can injure. One wrong step and a foot can give way, sending me sliding down the mountainside with only a prayer to make me stop. The fear is creeping in as I lightly put one step in front of the other, slowly putting weight on each foot to make sure the ground will hold. 

Faith isn't built in the places you can see but in the ones you cannot. Faith is made when you cannot rely on your sight, your experience, your knowledge to guide you. When all the things you can take credit for fail you, leaving only God's reliability to get you through. 

Sometimes all you can do is take a single step of courageous trust. 

Before we know it, we're at the top. I'm interested to see what the lake looks like. I'm expecting it to be clear and blue and like I always see it but, instead, it is still iced over and covered in snow. Just like everything else. Often, expectations and reality don't match up. But beauty still exists, even as the landscape looks nothing like I am used to. One always has to keep their eyes open for God, even when He doesn't show up like you thought. 

After a few minutes of catching our breath, taking photos, drinking water, and enjoying the view, we begin our trek down. At least we know some of the spots to avoid or tread carefully. Going over territory in life that you've been down before always gives you a bit of solace, even as you still experience new aspects of the journey. 

Calculating our way along, we pick our way along the boulder field, through the snow, glad to see any signs of the trail that peep through from time to time. At one point, we are slowly easing along some giant rocks, trying to figure out how to get safely down without causing ourselves unnecessary pain. While feeling my mind bounce between fear and problem-solving, I look up and see a beautiful patch of tiny, pink flowers growing out from the mountain-side. Symbol to me that this is what I'm trying to be - beauty springing forth as promise of hope from the upheaval and weathering heights of my life. Story of grace attempting to emerge from the ice-cold of a soul-winter I thought would not end. I snap a picture. Want to remember. Want to keep growing in the places that should spell my heart's death. Because of God. 

It takes us awhile, but we eventually retrace our general steps, weaving our way back across the valley toward the road that leads back to the car. Back to safety. Boots soak as we've felt the snow seep in through our socks and footholds have given way, plunging us into flowing creek-water underneath the snowpack. We've tripped. We've sunk. We've fallen even. But we've continued on. And we're almost past this challenge. 

Once back to the paved road, we celebrate our perseverance and our teamwork. And I marvel at how I feel even as legs shake from the climb and skin burns red from the sun. Wind whips our hair as sweat-drops dampen it. But somehow, I feel as though this is physical proof of what my soul has endured. I've come through some of the worst one can suffer and have survived. And now, I'm learning how to thrive. 

I don't think its a coincidence that both our middle names are "Grace." Because God has met us with His favor in the hard places. And as we say goodbye, there is a holy moment of friendship and faith as we have made a memory for life. 

And I head home...eager for a shower and some dinner, ready to put the feet up after a long day's adventure. Feeling satisfied and thankful for the faithfulness of God that proves itself true not just in the valleys but on the weathering heights of life. No mountain view worth seeing ever was summited without a struggle. No life worth living ever was experienced without the same.