Remember That Climb

We’re sitting in our usual spots.

Smooth and weathered Adirondack chairs circling a fire ring, nestled deep into the woods. There’s a cabin behind us, a lake in front, and a soaring mountain in the distance. The weather is perfect, clear skies, evening sun, and temperatures just right.

I visit this place often, in my mind. Like many times before, Jesus is sitting next to me and we’re engaged in conversation. This time, I’m unloading a lot.

It’s early November and the challenges of the year are still present.

I’m still early in the long recovery from the Achilles tendon injury.

Andrew is out of the dance studio day to day but the drama and grieving is far from over.

The battle to get a sale for our neighborhood group drags on with no clear end in sight.

The negative economic impact on our business is intensifying.

I don’t know when all this will ease up, or even if it ever will. It might even get worse.

I’ve shared -- at times complained about -- all this before.

In May it was feeling like I don’t know how to do what I’m being asked to do.

In June it was feeling intimidated and like I don’t belong in the room. Again because I don’t know what I’m doing.

In August, injury day, I’m struggling again with not knowing how to make sense of everything happening. I don’t know what I’m doing. I’ve never been here before.

In October, I wake up to a dissenting email from a neighborhood group member, which threatens everything we’ve worked for. I don’t know how to get past this one and I don’t want to deal with it.

So here we are again, same place as usual, only this time Jesus starts things by asking me this question, what’s on your mind Mark?

When I’m done covering all the familiar ground, he says,

Remember that climb in Virginia?

This question is so wholly unexpected I’m caught off guard and disoriented for a moment. As I reset, I respond.

The one where I wanted to quit half way up? The one that was harder than I expected, longer than I thought, and didn’t know when it would come to an end? Yeah, I remember.

I bet you would do it better today.

Really? Why do you say that?

You’re not the same guy anymore. Just like you’ll be different on the other side of these trials.

The woods became still as I considered what he was saying. Gradually, I began to believe his words. And allowed them to embrace me like the warmth of the fire.

Then I asked him the question that seemed most relevant.

What do I need?

Remember this: you are not alone and you’re not doing this alone. Let the struggle draw you closer to me.

Of all the things he could have said, after listening to all the things I said, he chose to take me back 15 years. To an experience that I can recall with vivid clarity on demand. One in which I faced real challenge and hardship. One where the duration and outcome were uncertain. Something more than I had ever attempted before. A mountain that tested me physically and beat me mentally.

Today, he reminds me, you are different. You’re not the same. What he gives me in that moment is exactly what I needed, to keep going for another day.