photo by Krystal Tye
I spent last week in Southwest Colorado, one of the most beautiful places on Earth. My father moved to this area when I was 11 years old (and helped build the condos in the picture) so I’ve been blessed to have a childhood full of mountain memories. Even before this, our family lived in Grand County, Colorado on three acres of lodge-pole pines. I have always wished my own children could have grown up having the same adventures I did. As kids, we lived outdoors – hiking, skiing, snowmobiling, sledding, swimming, spelunking, backpacking, fishing, biking, four wheel mountain road driving … that’s all the “ing” words I can think of. I am so glad my parents gave me an appreciation for nature and finding joy in the Creator’s world. I still have to be outside as much as possible, even if it’s just to sit in my own back yard. Sitting.. my new “ing” word for my older body.
Now I am a city dweller, and it has some great perks. But nothing can compare to watching the mood of a mountain range change five times in a day as the light and clouds change, hearing the wind in the trees before it comes to you, the smell of soil, pine, and sage, and a sky so blue you wouldn’t find a match even in a 64-count box of crayons. I’ve only been home a day and I’m already homesick for the Rockies. And I have not even begun to count the ways I love them.
On this visit, my younger two children were finally old enough to take a serious hike. We took off to climb the mesa behind my father’s house. My brother has camped on top a few times, so he knew they easy way to the top. In this case, easy meant avoiding the 80 degree incline directly behind the house and opting for a more gradual slope farther down the road. But we still had a steep climb with patches of snow, mud, large rocks, cactus, and brush to maneuver around, with no trail. My six and eight year old kids had never been on anything more challenging than the bike trail behind our house. I wondered how long before the complaining would begin, but I didn’t start begging to stop for a rest until we nearly reached the top! My idle ways while living at near sea level revealed themselves as I gasped for air. My children however urged me on to keep up. I realized hiking in the mountains from a young age taught me I could do hard things, and that hard things could be very enjoyable, even though painful at times.
The views from the top made it worth the effort. We could see the entire valley, a lake, and even the state line into New Mexico. We hiked along the top to the far end,
then made our way down farther from the house than we planned. We tried mud skiing (new sport) down the last incline, investigating a large animal skeleton at the bottom. As we rounded the base of the mesa and found the road that led home, I realized we had walked farther than we ever do on our city trails. Yet none of us had grown bored or wished we hadn’t come. I contrasted this to my various attempts to start a walking program motivated by the fact that it’s good for me. No comparison. I tortured my body on this hike and wondered if I would need assistance to get out of bed the next day. But at home it’s like pulling teeth to get out and walk down my flat, straight city street, or even the bike trail.
I sometimes hear people speak of their relationship with God as I do my exercise program; obligatory and guilt-ridden for lack of effort. I’ve been in that place plenty of times too. But God is not an obligation – He is an adventure! The Spirit has so much beauty to show us, so many interesting things to ponder and ask about, full of fresh air and bright light. My grown-up self often forgets that God isn’t found in the list of things we “should” do to be a good Christian. He is found in the joy of childlike curiosity, love, and trust. He delivered us from being servants and pupils under the school master to being sons and daughters of Him, Abba, Daddy. I love the world He created for us to enjoy and He speaks to me so much when I have the chance to immerse myself in it. Even in my city, there are places and times to do this.
But sometimes following Jesus isn’t a walk in the park. He did say there was a cross involved. Choices, sacrifices, endurance, patience, and pain – these also come with the high calling to “walk as He walked.” I have been on hikes that lasted longer than I bargained for. One day, when I was 12, my dad had to carry me the last couple miles back to the truck. I couldn’t go anymore. Sixteen miles round trip of steep trails and a few laps around the lake while fishing – I was overly optimistic about my abilities. But do I regret it? Not for a second. What drives people to do crazy things for Jesus? Joy, Gratitude, and Love. If obligation is my game, I’m afraid I would give up before I have barely started. Truly loving relationships don’t understand that kind of drudgery.
When we got home from our trip, my children ran to see their daddy who had to stay behind. No one had to say, “Please go hug your dad and tell him you missed him.” Spontaneous love and affection erupted that even the neighbors across the street could hear. If only we could see ourselves with our Heavenly Father this way.
I can write about this much easier than I can live it. So easy for my default setting to be task oriented, not love seeking. Seeing truth is easier than walking. But I’m thankful my Abba knows when I need Him to pick me up and carry me. Maybe that’s a third and best way of walking.
8thDay4Life 