Welp. I could turn around and find a safer way down the mountain. Or I could keep going and have an adventure. With a smile, I slipped my backpack off my shoulders and chose the latter.
Compared to last time I was up around the YMCA of the Rockies, this was dramatically different. The day was warm, sunny, and clear, and the snow dotted the mountainside in melting piles. The tips of the mountains weren't lost in the cloud cover but displayed a stunning picture of majesty. The brothers and I had hiked up a piece of the mountain and now, after reaching the heights, we were headed back, venturing down different routes than our ascent. Mine wound around outcroppings and through a small pass to the edge of a 20 foot boulder, that sloped steeply to below. It almost looked able to be slid down though. Unshouldering my pack I leaned against the rock at my back and inched along the top to where the drop was less steep. Following it with my eyes, I would have to jump off the last part and land squarely on the ground. Sounded rather fun.
Another group from the camp was heading up the trail and saw me kick some dust and pebbles in my adjusting to a good sliding postition. "Do you need help?" They asked.
"No," I replied, picturing a cool, terrifying scene from an action movie of someone leaping down a mountain. I'd be cool. I slowly slid further down and reached a point where I knew I couldn't return from. I had to go down. I tossed my backpack down below with a thud.
The group climbing asked me a few more times if I wanted help. I tried to answer back in the middle of a slide and it threw off my concentration and I couldn't stop sliding. Two or three of the men quickly hopped through the brambles over to where I would land and held their arms like they would catch me.
"Are you okay if I fall on you?" I asked finding a tiny foothold at which to pause. Not that they didn't look strong, but that's quite a bit of weight.
They nodded and I eased down further, hoping I could still make it down right in front of them without their assistance. What they did was, instead of pulling me off the mountain to catch me in their arms, they pushed my feet against the rock to slow my descent. It was surprisingly effective, and I was soon standing solidly at the bottom, recollecting my pack and giving my gratitude.
One time I saw an Instagram status of a friend saying "internally screaming." I asked them about it to show that I saw and cared and presently admitted that I kinda was internally screaming too. "Stay strapped," came their reply.
Maybe this isn't a phrase you're familiar with, but in my church campus group it has taken on the meaning of staying armed with the Word of God for fighting against the schemes of the enemy. That was the greatest advice I could've been given and really needed. I didn't need them to ask about all the details, jumping into their arms from my downward plunge, as it were; I would do that in prayer and the Almighty would mercifully catch me. But I did need someone to push my feet to the Mountain, to remind me of Truth, and to stimulate me to be anchored in It.
Here's my question for you, dear reader-- framed after Aaron Apel's style from his terrific 2017 New Year's sermon --are you around people who are going to hold your feet to the mountain? And are you holding the feet of someone else?
Stay strapped.
"Let us hold fast the confession of our hope without wavering,
for He who promised is faithful;
and let us consider how to stimulate one another to love and good deeds,"
Hebrews 10: 23-24
