It was two days before the conference and I was stuck on the side of a mountain. What was to be a three hour round trip hike with my family was getting scary. I knew I should’ve canceled the little gaunt. Why hadn’t I listened to the inner voice of reason that tried to talk some sense into me? There was editing to be done on my manuscript, packing to finish, a proposal that needed to be touched up.
My inner complaining halted as I glanced up to see one of the children take their last sip of water from a sport bottle.
“Don’t,” I cried. It was too late. I watched the last drop fall into my daughter’s open mouth. Four hours of rock climbing in the summer sun had drained us all, but the precious water must last no matter how thirsty we were. She moved forward with a sheepish look and an apology.
The peak seemed miles away still. My scuffed fingers and aching feet begged for a break, yet I knew there was no time to stop. We had to get to the top to reach the trail down. Tears threatened to dissolve me into a mess. All I could see was the rock cliff far out of my reach. How would we ever get there with the kids threatening to lay on the ground and not get up?
I squeezed through a rock crevice and the peak disappeared from sight. Climbing the face of a cliff, I pulled my niece up behind me. Some of my family was in front of me, some behind. There was the top again, only a smidge closer. I picked up momentum. Push forward. Keep moving. Focus on the trail in front of you and not the peak forever away.
God’s Word came to me. I press toward the mark for the prize of the high calling of God in Christ Jesus. This was the reason I struggled up the mountain. This hike was symbolic of my walk with Him.
My stomach growled from hunger. My tongue begged for more water. Another rock outcropping then a path led to the edge of the mountain. I stood surrounded by eight kids, my husband, and sister. Just to our left was the elusive finish line.
“There it is. We can do this. Let’s go. Can’t you see it there?” I said. They all looked with doubt yet moved forward.
We climbed and pushed through the rocks, slid down fissures, and pulled each other over bulges in the mountain. Some fell behind again, and I pulled them forward.
At last, my feet landed on the peak. I stared. The beauty of God’s world so high on a mountain brought a different kind of tears. We’d made it. Through travail and pain, pushing over rocks I never thought I could climb, we’d arrived. But, what was bigger than the victory of this trip was the lesson I’d take back with me. God wanted me to see that my walk through becoming a writer may be wrought with unbelievably hard work and frustration like the long trail up Old Rag Mountain, but in the end He’d bring me to the top of the mountain he wanted me to climb, with the exact amount of sustenance I needed. And, I wouldn’t be alone.