When we moved to British Columbia I was introduced to mountain climbing … okay, not like real mountain climbing, with ropes and crampons and carabiners … more like a hike, with a backpack, water, snacks and a camera.
Growing up on the East Coast of Canada I had encountered rolling hills that showcase the beauty of autumns foliage and the great big sky. Here on the Pacific Northwest one often only has to open their door to be reminded of their grandeur and how they hog the horizon.
It isn’t until you have encountered a real mountain that one learns to climb.
Lately I have been writing about what to do once a season of wandering, of climbing steep and rugged mountains in the form of struggles, sorrows and other difficulties, through a series starting with now what.
Once we have managed to get to the other side of the mountain climb, it is tempting to keep moving forward and not ever glance back at the climb that you survived.
But, that climb of ours might be just the story of encouragement that a fellow mountain climber might need to hear. Our sorrows and struggles might just be the hand on the small of the back of one who believes that they simply cannot go on.
When I look at the past few years in my life and the lives of those closest to me, there is a trail of hurt, life-altering illness, job loss, depression and instability that touched every area of our lives. I have referred to that season as annus horribilis (as QEW did in 1992) or horrible year, but it would be more accurate to refer to it not as one year, but years.
As I look back at that time, I could have lived in fear … for the possibilities for hope were nowhere in sight. Yet, during that time, I was surrounded by a bubble-wrap-like peace … a peace that surpasses human understanding.
Was I secured because of my closeness to God? was it because I am always faithful to him? A resounding, NO.
That peace was beyond my knowledge, beyond my means, beyond my deserving … or, more accurately, my lack of deserving. It was and is a peace that is available to all. I was, quite literally, at the end of myself, my abilities, my knowledge.
It was because there was nothing within me that could do anything, that I had just trust the only one who could.
There were no voices in the middle of the nights, no message in the clouds, no ghostly touch on my shoulder … just peace … that surpassed my understanding.
I would be driving to work, or laughing with a student about a math problem, or cleaning the toilets, or making dinner and I would stop, amazed that I was still standing, still breathing, still functioning. Chaos was swirling around me, from every side, and yet … I felt peace.
Don’t get me wrong, I also shed buckets of tears, I lost my temper with loved ones, I resented individuals and I begged for mercy … yet, I felt peace.
My very real mountain taught me how to climb. Though I did not ask for it, did not want it, would not like to ever climb it again … I learned, oh how I learned.
Sometimes we climb great mountains and never fully understand why they were put in our way, why we were forced to sacrifice so much. Maybe it was so that we could know peace that is beyond our understanding, so that we can share that peace with others, just heading up the mountain.
“Then you will experience God’s peace,
which exceeds anything we can understand.
His peace will guard your hearts and minds
as you live in Christ Jesus.”
Philippians 4:7
Even when I don’t see it, You’re working
Even when I can’t feel it, You’re working
You never stop, You never stop working
way maker
miracle worker
promise keeper
light in the darkness
my God, that is who you are
itsawonderfilledlife 
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