I was 16 going on 17; it was summer, and my formerly favorite English teacher was spending extended time in the doghouse of my mind. Why, you might ask, would I be wasting vacation time bitterly musing? Mr Graesser had given me what seemed to be a good idea a few months earlier — to sign up for an Outward Bound session in the Colorado Rockies. I loved spending time in nature and slipped into its parallel world when so much of life didn’t make sense. Rhythms of day and night, seasons, growth, decay and rebirth, helped me find internal order and calm. I loved British Romantic poets like Wordsworth, Keats, and Blake and believed, as they did, that nature had the power to communicate with me and to guide me. Little did I know that I would face a rude awakening that summer — and that I would come away with a whole new perspective on where I could find peace and order.
Turns out, nature wasn’t as benevolent as I had imagined, especially since our expedition involved a number of challenging tasks: hikes requiring topographical maps and a compass (on one hike we found ourselves up at the edge of a cliff face, half way through the day); setting up camp in the dark after exhausting days; and ascending a 14’er. I quickly realized that nature was a teacher with dangerous and pitiless consequences when mistakes were made. Shortly after starting the program, I wasn’t recalling lines of my favorite poems; all my attention was focused on the task at hand. I had to leverage all the strength to meet the challenges we were facing, much of which I hadn’t realized that I had.
When we climbed Mount Princeton toward the end of the expedition, I experienced a pivotal moment and change of perspective. The long days of hiking had become more familiar, and I had gotten stronger. We woke when it was still dark, long before the sun rose. Rather than climbing through underbrush, we were hiking in the open, up a narrow and steadily uphill path. It could have been the transition from dark to light, my increased stamina, or perhaps that we were going uphill; I’m not entirely sure. However, this day felt different. Just as before, I was being tested to the limits of my endurance, but I had more confidence and resolve.
My flight instinct had been replaced by determination and steady steps along the path. Reaching the summit was awe inspiring and transformative. We were surrounded by nature, but rather than being an end in itself, the beauty led to a greater and deeper spiritual experience for me. Reading the passage this week from Psalms, took me back to the experience in the Rockies so many years ago. Lifting my eyes toward the mountaintop and hiking that path, changed the way I saw. Like the psalmist, I could sense my help came from the Lord, the creator of the mountains.
I lift up my eyes to the mountains—where does my help come from?
My help comes from the Lord, the Maker of heaven and earth. Psalm 121:1-2
by Sherry Sommer
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