The terrain was my heart. This breathtaking scene before me was the landscape of my soul. My heart, full of mountains and valleys, rivers and deserts, was full. At 5400', I could not avert my eyes from the majestic beauty laid out before me.
These verses are filled with deep hurt and immense truth. My vision can be clouded with hopelessness, but as it fades away, I hear, "I see you. I know you. I feel this with you."
We groan, anxiously waiting for the time when what is mortal will be swallowed up by life. And this next statement is stunning. He who has prepared us for this very thing is GOD.
He who has prepared us for this mountain is God. He who is walking with us on this mountain is God. He who asks for our faith, even though everything is cloudy and we can't see feet in front of us, is God. He who knows the struggle is God. He who has felt our afflictions and knows them intimately is the God who is preparing for us an eternal weight of glory beyond all comparison.
This weight of glory is beyond all comparison. It does not compare to the glory I encountered on top of the mountain. It does not compare to the majesty of the wild ponies. And it surely does not compare to the struggle it took in reaching the top. This weight of glory is beyond all comparison.
With that truth, how can I not accept the perfect invitation into rest? How can I not follow GOD into the valley? How can I not trust him with everything in me? Oh yes, I'll groan, I'll hurt, I'll mourn. Surely, I'll be fragile and unsteady. But the thing about courage is that there is still fear, but there is action despite the fear.
Yes, I will still feel deeply, yes, I might break, "But I have this treasure in jars of clay, to show that the surpassing power belongs to God and not to us. I am afflicted in every way, but not crushed; perplexed, but not driven to despair; persecuted, but not forsaken; struck down, but not destroyed, always carrying in the body the death of Jesus, so that the life of Jesus may also be manifested in our bodies."
That is how I will not lose heart. By letting the LIGHT OF LIFE shine into my broken jar of clay so it burns like a kaleidoscope. And if climbing a mountain, extreme cold, getting lost and heavy packs can all be a part of the painful lessons of glory, then I am ready to face them head on. If all these things that make me feel hurt and shatter my clay, creates me into a better vessel for God's Light, then I will accept the invitation into rest, then I will enter into the night of wrestling so that I can know him more.
Mount Rogers wasn't my first mountain conquered, nor was it my hardest, but it was a mountain, and victoriously I was standing on the top. As my eyes took in the miles of mountains before me, dread seeped into my heart.
There were more mountains to climb.
Don't get me wrong, I love climbing mountains, I love embarking on new adventures, but this mountain was hard. We had endured extreme cold, long nights, heavy packs and getting lost. A familiar feeling tried to wedge its way into my heart: it wasn't hopelessness I was feeling, we were beyond that, it was homesickness. O, how I longed for my heavenly home. How I am longing to be clothed in the full garments of righteousness, in the beautiful rest of Heaven because this terrain is getting rough, my feet are tired, and I am frighteningly unsteady.
There were more mountains to climb.
Don't get me wrong, I love climbing mountains, I love embarking on new adventures, but this mountain was hard. We had endured extreme cold, long nights, heavy packs and getting lost. A familiar feeling tried to wedge its way into my heart: it wasn't hopelessness I was feeling, we were beyond that, it was homesickness. O, how I longed for my heavenly home. How I am longing to be clothed in the full garments of righteousness, in the beautiful rest of Heaven because this terrain is getting rough, my feet are tired, and I am frighteningly unsteady.
And the truth was, each of those hard things painted me a heart-wrenching picture of my own life.
The extreme cold resembled the storm that tried to ravage me to my core. But there was gratitude, people saw my distress, mostly because I had the courage to be vulnerable and tell them how cold I was, they donated their warm things to me. Will I have the courage to be vulnerable in this trial? To take off my strength that I wear like armor, and reveal that I'm shaking to my core? To show that I am unsteady and I have questions and there is still a real struggle?
The weight I carry has become a burden."Come to me." I heard the familiar words, "all you who are weary and burdened and I will give you rest." Weary? That's about right. It's the very definition of my name. Burdened? I'd say so, my pack was heavy. I was carrying less of what my true needs were and more of what I thought I might need. But there is a way to carry a backpack, that it rests just properly on your hips and becomes one with you, it's possible I did it properly. But there was this invitation. This gentle, kind, loving invitation to remove the burden and enter into rest. "Come to me." Why was it so hard to accept the invitation? Do I believe that He would give me rest? "Take my yoke upon you and learn from me; for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls." Maybe it's hard because I don't know what His yoke is, maybe it's hard because I can't imagine carrying anything different than what I have been carrying for so long. I have what works for me. Does it make me thrive? And what would happen if I actually let go(d)?
We were lost in the wilderness. After a serious of unfortunate events and quick decisions, we found ourselves on what we thought was the right path, but truly it was wrong. We came to a place where we were unsure of how we would weather the windy night, with little shelter, a lack of food and no communication with the rest of our group. But we prayed that God would guide our footsteps in the potentially dangerous predicament we found ourselves in. And he gave us wisdom, guided our reading of the map and we made it back to camp before sundown. Trust was the lesson he taught me out of this, trusting our circumstances to him and trusting others into his hands.
The mountain was hard, but it was beautiful. The storm was strong, but it created something lovely. My pack was heavy, but I learned perseverance. We saw water provided out of nothing, we shared warmth inside of cold tents, we processed what it meant for us to be lost in the wilderness and the coping mechanisms we had. We laughed and we cried, we fell and we stood strong. The mountain painted a picture, and I longed to stay on top. I was thriving on top. But there was a valley down below, where the things I learned on the mountain would be utilized and called upon. How vividly I encountered God on top of the mountain would be the light in the darkness of the valley below. But I could hear his invitation to enter into the valley, which would be a different kind of hard and unsure.
On our life mountains, we do not lose heart. But doesn't God see that our outer selves are wasting away? Doesn't He see how tired this heart is, and how weary this body has become? Doesn't He hear my groaning? How can I not lose heart?
We were lost in the wilderness. After a serious of unfortunate events and quick decisions, we found ourselves on what we thought was the right path, but truly it was wrong. We came to a place where we were unsure of how we would weather the windy night, with little shelter, a lack of food and no communication with the rest of our group. But we prayed that God would guide our footsteps in the potentially dangerous predicament we found ourselves in. And he gave us wisdom, guided our reading of the map and we made it back to camp before sundown. Trust was the lesson he taught me out of this, trusting our circumstances to him and trusting others into his hands.
The mountain was hard, but it was beautiful. The storm was strong, but it created something lovely. My pack was heavy, but I learned perseverance. We saw water provided out of nothing, we shared warmth inside of cold tents, we processed what it meant for us to be lost in the wilderness and the coping mechanisms we had. We laughed and we cried, we fell and we stood strong. The mountain painted a picture, and I longed to stay on top. I was thriving on top. But there was a valley down below, where the things I learned on the mountain would be utilized and called upon. How vividly I encountered God on top of the mountain would be the light in the darkness of the valley below. But I could hear his invitation to enter into the valley, which would be a different kind of hard and unsure.
2 Corinthians 4:16-18 says,
"So we do not lose heart. Though our outer self is wasting away, our inner self is being renewed day by day. For this light momentary affliction is preparing for us an eternal weight of glory beyond all comparison, as we look not to the things that are seen but to the things that are unseen. For the things that are seen are transient, but the things that are unseen are eternal."
On our life mountains, we do not lose heart. But doesn't God see that our outer selves are wasting away? Doesn't He see how tired this heart is, and how weary this body has become? Doesn't He hear my groaning? How can I not lose heart?
2 Corinthians 5:4-5 says,
"For while we are still in this tent, we groan, being burdened - not that we would be unclothed but that we would be further clothed, so that what is mortal may be swallowed up by life. He who has prepared us for this very thing is God, who has given us the Spirit as a guarantee."
We groan, anxiously waiting for the time when what is mortal will be swallowed up by life. And this next statement is stunning. He who has prepared us for this very thing is GOD.
He who has prepared us for this mountain is God. He who is walking with us on this mountain is God. He who asks for our faith, even though everything is cloudy and we can't see feet in front of us, is God. He who knows the struggle is God. He who has felt our afflictions and knows them intimately is the God who is preparing for us an eternal weight of glory beyond all comparison.
This weight of glory is beyond all comparison. It does not compare to the glory I encountered on top of the mountain. It does not compare to the majesty of the wild ponies. And it surely does not compare to the struggle it took in reaching the top. This weight of glory is beyond all comparison.
With that truth, how can I not accept the perfect invitation into rest? How can I not follow GOD into the valley? How can I not trust him with everything in me? Oh yes, I'll groan, I'll hurt, I'll mourn. Surely, I'll be fragile and unsteady. But the thing about courage is that there is still fear, but there is action despite the fear.
Yes, I will still feel deeply, yes, I might break, "But I have this treasure in jars of clay, to show that the surpassing power belongs to God and not to us. I am afflicted in every way, but not crushed; perplexed, but not driven to despair; persecuted, but not forsaken; struck down, but not destroyed, always carrying in the body the death of Jesus, so that the life of Jesus may also be manifested in our bodies."
That is how I will not lose heart. By letting the LIGHT OF LIFE shine into my broken jar of clay so it burns like a kaleidoscope. And if climbing a mountain, extreme cold, getting lost and heavy packs can all be a part of the painful lessons of glory, then I am ready to face them head on. If all these things that make me feel hurt and shatter my clay, creates me into a better vessel for God's Light, then I will accept the invitation into rest, then I will enter into the night of wrestling so that I can know him more.
