Climbing A Mountain Part 4: Courage Under Fire

“I don’t think I can do this,” he said.

Back at the trailhead we had each shared our biggest fear about the climb. His was a fear of heights. Not an insignificant thing on or off a mountain. A few hours into it, he hadn’t had to stare that fear in the face. Now he did, as our next steps would include a short but steep climb, a traverse across a narrow trail with steep slopes on either side, and finally, another steep pitch bordered by a crevasse.

“I don’t think I can do this,” he said.

We had stopped at an outcrop to put on our crampons. He turned his face away from the slope and gripped the sides of a boulder. We all silently went about gearing up, sensing that for the moment, all we could do was give him a safe space in which to be afraid. Not try to talk him out of it, or tell him what to do or how to do it. Fear doesn’t need fixing.

“I don’t think I can do this,” he said.

Looking up from my boots, he was sitting on a rock, his wife kneeling at his feet, carefully attaching his crampons to his boots. It was like watching Jesus washing the feet of his disciples, showing them what love does in the face of fear.

“I don’t think I can do this,” he said.

And then he did. He stepped out onto the slope and headed straight up. Like climbing a ladder that is leaning up against the side of a house, but with nothing to hold on to. One step ahead of him, his cousin told him to fix his focus on her feet rather than the steep slope on either side. Behind him another cousin told him to simply take five more steps. The one in front was terrified too, but by focusing on him she momentarily forgot that she was afraid too. The one behind him called upon her experience as a Cross-fit coach to help him simply take the next right step. Step-by-terrifying-step, he made his way to the other side of the thing he thought he couldn’t do. He did it himself, but he didn’t have to do it alone.

When did we decide that being vulnerable is an act of weakness? From what I saw up on that mountain, it is one of the most courageous things we can ever do.

Two days later, we passed that same steep stretch on our way back down.

“I can do that,” he said.

Solitary Solidarity

On the home page for Life In The Trinity Ministry there is a phrase that rings as so true and so important.

A place for solitary work that cannot be done alone.

There is work that is ours to do, and no one else can do it for us.

However.

There is a need for us to have a safe place to do that work in relationship with others. A place where we can say what is true for us and be heard. A place where we can bring our questions and not get ready answers, our fears and not have them shushed away, and our messy emotions and not have someone try to clean them up. We need people who will keep us from getting burned, and, will hold our feet to the fire. People who see for us what we can’t see for ourselves, and, who accept us as we are.

While the work may be ours alone to do, there is safety in numbers. Going it together reminds us that we are not alone in our desire to make sense of things, and to become as fully ourselves as we are meant to be.

I am grateful to those who walk with me on my journey to becoming whole, and for those who invite me to walk with them.

Onward.

Together.

Photo by Matt Hatchett from Pexels

It's Good To Be Here

Mimi…It’s good being here.

Those words, spoken this morning, would warm any grandmother’s heart. Especially when they come from a little three-year old grand boy who is staying with us, along with his fifteen month old brother, for a long weekend while his wonderful, weary parents celebrate their anniversary.

It’s a big deal.

They love us. They miss their mom and dad.

They love being with us at our “cabin”.. They miss being with their parents in their own home.

They love their bedtime rituals with us. They miss having their Mama and Dada tuck them in.

Like I said. It’s a big deal. Especially for two little boys away from home for multiple nights.

Mimi…It’s good being here.

All day long I’ve reflected on those words. Why, exactly, is it good being here? It’s probably not too complicated. Even if he can’t yet put words to it yet, I think it’s good being here because here…he feels loved, safe, important, and valued. And it doesn’t hurt that we have a whole lot of fun.

Some things never change.