Lives

Heavy gray clouds blanketed the sky like the fluffy rolls of an oversized comforter. A cooling breeze cut through the day’s heat. My daughter bounded ahead, scrambled up rocks, and finding prime places to have her picture taken. My son lagged a few paces behind, chatting about video games and loudly wondering how far we planned on hiking.

I had packed lunch, snacks, and various fluids before church and stashed them in the car. Hiking had been on my list for weeks, and we finally had the opportunity.

I have taken my kids on many hikes, and we always have a good time. I wasn’t sure that would be the case today. My son immediately began complaining about missing time and opportunities to play games, and my patience broke.

I had snapped at him that he would not ruin the day and that I could see that the video games went away altogether. I did not handle it well.

The trail we were hiking was somewhat familiar. A couple of years earlier, we stopped at a popular overlook, noticed the trail, and walked a short distance before turning around. This time, I intended to get somewhere.

The trail we had stumbled upon was part of the long rambling Appalachian trail. We hiked up a relatively decent incline for some time before I asked a couple hiking from the opposite direction, “Is there anything specific to see coming up, or are we just going on a walk?”

“Well, a little further up ahead, there is a decent lookout. Other than that, there is a lodge about 4 miles on.” The gentleman looked me up and down, “But seeing as you have no water, I don’t expect you want to go that far.”

“No. We’re just out for a bit of a walk today.”

The trail climbed steadily up to the ridge of the mountain range. My daughter’s hand flew up, pointing, “Oh, a picture! Take a picture!”

A passing hiker kindly offered to take a picture of us together.

We paused at the spot and took in the various hues of green and yellow, quilting the rolling mountain ranges we call home.

We hadn’t gotten this far the last time we came. A little over two years ago, I was newly divorced. My world had shattered. I desperately dug my nails in and clung to what I could scrape together of life. I was depressed, fighting to function despite seizure episodes, and desperately trying to ameliorate the effects of divorce on my children.

We fled to the mountains often, seeking a break from the usual and a sense of peace. The trip inevitably reminded me of the time spent there with their mother, but the fresh air, cool breeze, and genuine smiles as they would play on rocks, dip little hands in mountain streams, and explore with wonder filled me with joy.

To this day, some of my favorite pictures and videos on my phone come from visits to the mountains.

Regardless of the storms raging in my life, forests and mountains have been a refuge and safe harbor. Trees are friendly sentries, giant guardians holding pain and chaos at bay. The wind dances wistfully among the branches spreading whispers just beyond comprehension. Squirrels industriously explore, gather, and play in a world that belongs more to them than humans.

When I stand among the trees and close my eyes, I feel like I stand near the world’s lungs, peaceful and at rest.

I look out over the folded ridges of the Appalachians, crests of emerald waves half obscured by mist and fog. My mind wanders to the many lives and worlds that hide among the trees and winding roads. I imagine the small break in trees on one mountainside is the favorite sunning spot for wildlife and woodsmen alike. I burn with curiosity to know where a half-glimpsed section of road may meander to. In my heart, I see the diverse collection of faces and people going about their lives, unaware that a canopy of leaves hides them from someone’s view.

Life surrounds us. Each person in every car, every voice behind a phone call, and every distant building is full of life. Mothers, daughters, brothers, fathers, sisters, cousins, grandparents, and best friends that smile and laugh on good days and curse and cry on bad ones. People who love and are loved.

The last time I stood on this ridge, I was running from life’s pain and chaos and thoughts of self-harm. My entire vision was caught up in a little curly-haired girl and the deeply dimpled smile of a little boy. I remember feeling tired, overwhelmed, and insecure as we turned around well before the kids were ready.

This time I sincerely wanted to keep hiking. I encouraged and urged my children on. I praised them for their progress, took in the fresh air and beauty deeply, and smiled easily.

Much of my world is still wrapped up in a little curly-haired girl and a boy with dimples, but I am no longer running away from life. I have allowed myself into the picture as well. I want my kids to remember a vibrant and present father who was a whole and interesting person in himself. I want to lead a life worth living by example, and I want to love them well.

Moreover, as I have included myself in the picture, I see others more. I wish I could know the stories and lives scattered around those mountain roads. Part of my heart breaks that there are people, loves, joys, struggles, and triumphs I will never hear. Lives that pass me by unnoticed.

Among the multitude of incredible treasures of God is His immense capacity to know, treasure, and keep every one of those lives and the totality of the people who live them in His heart. He is the great Story Keeper who coauthors and knows every twist and turn of our external and internal narrative and loves us deeply.

I pray that at least part of eternity is the opportunity to intimately know the people and the lives of those who share it with us. To share in their joys and sorrows and worship God together that He is more than enough for them all.

I stand on the same trail, in the exact geographic location, but in a very different place. I cannot help but marvel at the grace of God and whisper prayers of thanksgiving that He never gave up on one such as me.

“Daddy, I’m glad we went on this hike, and I’m sorry I complained.”

“Me too, Buddy, me too.”

Delphi

It was a well-marked if steep, dirt path that led to the top of Delphi. Resting roughly 1600 feet above the valley floor and nestled into the mountain’s rock is the ancient stadium. This is the highest point you are allowed to visit at the archeological site.

The stadium, which once hosted over 6000 attendees, sits at the top of a significantly steep incline. The rest of the site lies spread down the slope of the mountain below, including a theater that boasted the best view imaginable. Massive Doric columns mark the place of the once mighty temple of Apollo and the seat of the great oracle.

My niece and I left the family at the theater and energetically started our way up the trail. At times, the slope angle was such that our heels hung in the air while we balanced on the toes of our feet. We energetically chatted and climbed the mountain, just to say we did if nothing else.

By the time the stadium came into view, I was thinking, “We may not have reached the peak, but I think I will count this as climbing another mountain, this time in another country.”

We took a few pictures of the sprawling stadium, breathed in the fresh air and scent of pine, and started back down. I had grown accustomed to the squeak of tennis shoes on highly polished marble and the crunch of gravel, so it drew my attention when I heard a clicking noise.

As I looked over, I noticed a little old woman, her daughter holding her arm, and industriously walking down the mountain in high heels… HIGH HEELS.

Suddenly, I felt a bit less accomplished in “summiting the peak” of this stunningly gorgeous site.

On the way up I told my niece that where there is a will, there is a way. This woman was absolute proof. She moved with small steps steady down the slope while talking quietly with her daughter. What was a mountain but one more path on her way to where she was going? She certainly wasn’t going to dress down for something as inconsequential as a 45-degree incline.

On our way back from the site we ate lunch on a stone balcony looking out over the valley. The steep mountainside dropped below us to a narrow river valley carpeted with olive groves. The modern city of Delphi sits perched on the edge of the mountain with quaint streets full of hotels, cafes, tavernas, tourist shops, and artists.

Near Delphi Greece, by David Zwakenberg

We allotted about half a day for driving to and seeing Delphi and we all wished we had more time to spend there. We wanted time to enjoy the view, take in the excellent craftsmanship represented in the local shops, and explore the area. Delphi is about 2 hours outside of Athens, near Mount Parnassus.

Just before the archeological site is a small town we called, Greeklinburg because it reminded us of Gatlinburg Tennessee. It was packed with tourists, tourist shops, Christmas stores, log-built furniture, and other sights that took me back home to the Smokies. We didn’t get to do more than drive through, but we all wished we had planned more time to explore Greeklinburg.

If you are planning a trip to Athens, I would highly suggest setting aside a day to go visit Delphi. It is certainly worth every effort made to see it.

If you are staring up the slope intimidating slope of a mountainside in your own life, I would tell you what I told my niece, where there is a will there is a way. Just like that little old woman, you climb a mountain like any other path, one step at a time.

And, while I encourage you to do it with style and flair, maybe try something other than high heels?

Mount Le Conte

I was younger then. My cousin and uncle came down to the Knoxville area and asked me if I would go on a hike with them. Our target was Mt. Le Conte. I knew it had been some time since I had focused on physical training. I was in college and newly married, my time investments were spent elsewhere. Yet, it hadn’t been that long ago that I had been running daily and gone on other mountain ascending hikes, so I was fairly confident in my abilities.

Allow me to tell you a little about Mt. Le Conte that I did not know at the time. Mt. Le Conte is the third highest peak in the smokey mountain national park, however, from base to summit it is the tallest mountain east of the Rocky Mountains. From base, near Gatlinburg, to peak, you cover over 5000 feet of elevation gain.

I knew the hike would take most of the day and packed a lunch and water as needed as well as a camera. We started the hike at a level incline meandering through sun-dappled woods. The day was warm, but not hot, and we all carried extra clothing for the eventual cooler temperatures at the top. It was beautiful.

Hours later, as we skirted a rather thin part of the trail hugging one side of the mountain, I was having trouble identifying whether my lungs or legs burned more. By the time we reached the Inn located just shy of the peak, I was ready to collapse.

I had far overestimated my fitness for the hike.

We stopped for a bare handful of minutes before continuing to a small rock bald with unimpeded views stretching for miles. It was spectacular.

When I was learning to run, I was instructed to look down whenever I came to a hill. A large portion of running is the mental game and staring at a long incline seems to increase your awareness of the added difficulty of ascending the climb. Somehow, staring at the next few steps makes you far less aware of the climb.

That is the example I always think of when I hear someone say, “Just keep your head down and keep on…” Just figure out the next few steps and focus on the fundamentals, don’t look at the big picture, you’ll reach the top when you get there. It’s a mental game.

When we started down that trailhead, just outside of Gatlinburg, beautiful hardwoods stretched thick canopy all around us. The forest blocked our view of everything but the next short section of the trail. I am glad it did. I cannot imagine how much more difficult the climb would have been having I ever seen Mt. Le Conte from top to bottom all at once.

I might have cheated myself out of the experience of reaching the mountain top because of feeling intimidated by the immensity of the mountain in front of me.

I am no master wordsmith, and I hope my words are not too heavy-handed, but I am sure you can see where I am going with this. I have had a very full past couple of weeks, and I am staring at a massive mountain in front of me.

Yesterday my system was in so much shock that I failed to write anything. Today, I am attempting to remind myself that mountains in life, as with real ones, are ascended one step at a time. If you try to take in the entire climb at once, you could never figure out how to start.

Thankfully we don’t have to. God promises direction and wisdom. Isaiah 30:21 says, “And your ears shall hear a word behind you, saying, “This is the way, walk in it,” when you turn to the right or when you turn to the left.” (Isaiah 30 ESV)

We are tasked with keeping our eyes focused on the path in front of us and God will show us the trail to follow.

No matter the size of the mountain facing you in life, the path up is still traveled one step at a time. Trying to layout the entire journey before taking your first step will cause anxiety, stress, and disappointment. Trust and be patient with the process. Enjoy the scenery, tackle the adversity, and let the peak come when you get there.

I am sure the climb will be tough, but I am equally sure the experience at the top will be incredibly worth it. Allow me to leave you with a couple of other scriptures of encouragement and remember you are a mountain climber too.

Philippians 3:13-14, “forgetting what lies behind and straining forward to what lies ahead, I press on toward the goal for the prize of the upward call of God in Christ Jesus.”

Psalm 119:105 “Your word is a lamp to my feet and a light to my path.”

Romans 8:37, “No, in all these things we are more than conquerors through him who loved us.”

Hebrews 12:2, “looking to Jesus, the founder and perfecter of our faith”

Philippians 1:6, “And I am sure of this, that he who began a good work in you will bring it to completion at the day of Jesus Christ.”