Fair warning - this is a long post - a lengthy account of a significant experience that I recently underwent.
If you had told me a year ago that I would voluntarily find myself climbing up a mountain during my vacation time, I might have laughed out loud. The thought of me effectively exercising “for fun”, subjecting myself to the outdoors and to all those parts of nature that I generally try to avoid in my daily life would have been utterly ridiculous. I had never so much as slept in a sleeping bag, set up a tent, or done any of the girl scout camping trip things that many little girls do. I was notoriously in love with the comfort and leisure of the indoors. Yet here I am today reflecting on a few days spent backpacking up a mountain in New Mexico, with a group of young adults from my church.
My trip up the mountain was easily the hardest thing that I have ever done. On several occasions, I questioned why on earth I had decided to do it. “Honestly, what compelled you?” I asked myself over and over again. I had heard about a similar trip from peers at church who seemed to have had such an impactful experience, that I developed an unshakable curiosity, which grew into something like interest. I considered potential reasons why it would be a worthwhile endeavor for me. For starters, I wanted to be a more adventurous person. Furthermore, I thought it would be a unique opportunity for me to challenge myself. The mountain seemed to be a place of revelation, and I wanted to know what it might reveal to me. I wanted to see this marvelous face of creation and encounter its creator there. Those were good enough reasons for me, and so it was settled - I would go to the mountain.
Preparing for the trip was a challenge in and of itself. The number one precaution I had been given by everyone who knew that I was going was that I would need to get into the habit of working out for the trip. The physical requirements would be difficult and would make or break me. I worked out occasionally, which was far more than I ever had before. I would hop on a machine in the gym and in no time at all feel as though my lungs were going to explode in my too-tight chest. Since that is a generally unpleasant feeling, I would often give myself long breaks after short iterations of exercise. When my body felt tired, however quickly, I would call it quits and tell myself that I had still made progress. On occasion, I would work out with others and realize that they did not seem to have this problem. What they had instead was 99% more physical endurance than I did. It was both discouraging and eye-opening.
A number of folks who care for me advised me to see my doctor about my trouble. For a number of insufficiently good reasons, I did not do so until a few days before the trip. As one of my friends had predicted, my doctor determined that I had exercise-induced asthma, which is perhaps more respectably known as reactive airway disease. I felt like the diagnosis was doctor-speak for “clinically lazy when it comes to exercise”. I did not entirely know what to do with that information, other than pick up the medication and the inhaler that she prescribed me and hope for the best.
In the brief amount of time that followed, time got away from me, and I found myself scrambling to finish preparations for the trip the day before we were set to head out. I woke up early to have my sister braid my hair for me, which would take several hours. We had to stop in the middle so that she could go to work. During that time, I went shopping to replace several items I ordered online that turned out to be inadequate for the trip. I had hoped to stop by the pharmacy to pick up my prescriptions as well, but time was flying by and I was running late for a babysitting job, so off I went, hoping to get to that later. Naturally, that night ended up being a later commitment than I anticipated - as in until 2 in the morning. At that point, the pharmacy was closed and my poor, dedicated sister had been waiting for me to finish my hair. When she finished my hair it was after 6 a.m. and I was due to meet my hiking companions at our church at 8 o’clock. I raced home, shoved all the new items into a new pack, along with other things, and hoped for the best as I raced off to the church. I passed the pharmacy on the way and died a little inside, knowing that it would open at the very same time that I was due to arrive at church. I would have to do without it. I resolved that I would be fine, given that I had lived my whole life without an inhaler.
I got to the church a little later than I had hoped. We loaded up our gear, said a prayer, exchanged encouragements and hit the road in a 15 passenger van. I was a little out of it during the ride, given that I had not slept at all the night before. I couldn’t really sleep in the van because my seat was a wide aisle seat with no place to rest my head. I was seated beside someone I barely knew, and I couldn’t seem to find the capacity in me to engage him at that moment. I jumped in and out of conversations for short moments, but I mostly listened to and watched everyone around me. The drive from Dallas to Angel Fire was a little over 10 hours. By the time we reached our first destination, I was tired enough to have been beady-eyed, and I still had a final project to submit for a summer class before going offline for the week. I was in the midst of working on that when one of the girls declared that folks were going on a walk. I didn’t want to be “that guy” who didn’t join the group, and so even though I had no desire to go on said walk, I made my way to the road along with everyone else. We might have been out for 15 to 20 minutes and by the time we returned I already felt exhausted. I did the least exertion-filled version of running to my room, dropped myself in the bed, and experienced something like a tiny panic attack because I didn’t know how I could climb a mountain when a 15-minute walk exhausted me. I put the thought out of my mind so that I could work on my final.
The next morning, I woke up and had what must have been an actual panic attack. For a moment, I couldn’t breathe at all, which made no sense whatsoever, since I had not exerted myself at all yet. I stood near my bed, quietly attempting to find air to fill my lungs. When I finally found it, I dutifully got dressed and brought my things upstairs to finish my final and join everyone for breakfast. I worked madly at my keyboard while continuing my silent panic. It is a bit alarming to know that you can be surrounded by people so thoroughly unaware of the duress that you are masking. What an unsafe ability to have. We ate breakfast, distributed community gear, weighed our packs, and set off for Wheeler Peak.
On the way to the mountain, we stopped by the vacation home of our recently retired pastor. We left a trailer with our personal belongings at his home, and he helped us to bring our packs to the mountain. There, at the foot of the mountain, we ate lunch and discussed a bit of what to expect. We took a group photo and started the longest walk of my life. As we were not permitted cell phones or other electronics, I soon lost track of the time.
I don’t know how long we had been at it before I was overcome. My lungs were burning and my legs were tiring, but no one else seemed to be breaking a sweat at all, so I tried hard as I might to push on and keep up. I couldn’t sustain it for long, and with shame equal to the burning in my lungs, I had to let our guide know that I needed to stop. This would be one of many such occasions. I had to choose between killing my body and killing my pride, and since only one of them was physically hurting me, I had to let the other go. “Take a deep breath” and “Fill your lungs” my guides would tell me. I did not know how to explain that I honestly could not do it. My lungs simply would not fill. Perhaps this was exercise-induced asthma. It was a terrifying thing to try to fill my lungs and find myself unable to. Honest-to-goodness terrifying. My head was starting to hurt and I thought at any moment my legs might give out on me. At some point, I told Matthew, one of my guides, “I don’t know how much longer I can do this.” “Do what?“ he asked. “Make my legs move,” I answered. He assured me that I could. At another point, Kevin, my other guide, offered to carry my pack for a while. I hated to let him, because he was already being so patient with me and carrying a significantly larger pack than mine, but he insisted that he was happy to do it, and I knew that the momentary relief would not only help me, but likely enable our group to move faster, so I relinquished my pack, and he strapped it in front of him. Soon after I realized that I missed my pack because it could serve as a kind of crutch or an excuse. Without it, I felt that I should be able to feel less tired and move more quickly, but I was still struggling. At some point, one of the girls offered me the use of her inhaler. I am a bit of a germaphobe, but I had to get over that real quick so that I could breathe. In a little while, I felt my lungs open up some, and while my struggle remained, it eased up significantly. I owe that dear girl a batch of cookies or some other token of appreciation because that helped me more than I could have imagined.
I wondered how much longer this would all last, and I found much to my frustration that our guides would not provide that information. I had never really been the sort of child to continue asking “Are we there yet?” My sister recently pointed out to me that that was because our parents had always given us that information upfront and along the way. I am not sure if my parent’s habit of informing us or simply my own personality was the reason why I always liked to know as much information as possible about anything that I was involved with. I like to know the agenda, the end-game, and all the details in-between. My guide explained to me that the trip was meant to reflect trials in our life and that while God would bring us through to the other side, the likelihood was that He would not tell us when our trials would end. We simply had to stand in our faith and trust Him to bring us through. That was sense-making and powerful, but I still wanted the information. I think my climb up the mountain was made more difficult by my uncertainty of when it would end.
We came across a few areas of snowy slopes, where our guides carefully made footholds for us and demonstrated how to stop ourselves in the event that we should find ourselves sliding down. Naturally, because I seem to have the strangest luck all at once at any given time, I found myself in this position. I don’t know when or how my legs left from beneath me and I went sliding down the snowy hill, unable to gauge where it ended. I had specific instructions not to die on this mountain, and here I was barreling down a hill uncontrollably, not to mention ungracefully. “Moriah, stop yourself,” Kevin shouted. “I can’t!” I replied, and indeed I could not. I tried to dig my trekking poles into the snow as we had been shown just moments before, but I could not get them to hold. I finally stopped as my legs hit rocks where the snow ended. Matthew came sliding after me (far more in control than I had). Multiple people asked if I was okay. I said that I was, although inner me was freaking out and distressed at the thought of having to climb back up to where I had fallen from. It was very possible that I might lose my mind or at least my composure.
At some point, I knew we were close because I heard water. When the water came into view, I asked if we were there, and with a smile, Matthew told me that we were. I nearly fell to my knees. It’s lucky that I didn’t because we still had some walking to do up the side of the hill, above the water, where we finally reached our actual campsite. I was ready to rest, but we still had to set up camp. I looked at the disassembled tent I was meant to share with one of my hiking companions. Neither of us knew how to set it up, and as much as I wanted to figure that out for myself, I was drained, so I found myself relying on someone else to help me. Again. Shortly after the camp was set up, it began to rain. We circled up under a tarp and Kevin prepared our first mountain meal for us. I think it may have been pan-fried Hawaiian rolls and garlic couscous. Both of these things were new and odd to me. I preferred the former to the latter, but that didn’t matter much, because I didn’t have much of an appetite. Still, I finished the meal under the advisement of my guides. Our guides revealed to us that we would be sharing life-stories during our time in the mountain. They also let us know that we would camp at our site all day the next day and have the option to explore higher up in the morning. I felt solely responsible for what appeared to be a change in plans, but I also felt relieved to have an option to rest. They took a headcount for their morning explorers, and I found that I was the only person who opted out. Kevin told me that he would stay behind with me, and I felt horrible because I know how he enjoys adventure and I imagined how much he was giving up already to accommodate me on this trip. I told him that I would be okay alone and he refused to let me stay alone. Later on, three other girls decided to stay back as well.
That evening, as the rain ceased and the night fell darker, I put on almost every layer I had and slipped into my sleeping bag - or more like tried to slip into it. Our tent was set up on a bit of an incline, so I kept slipping downward on the sleeping mat beneath my sleeping bag. I couldn’t figure out a good way to anchor myself, and I couldn’t get sufficiently warm since my sleeping bag also kept slipping. I just needed it to stay around my shoulders at least. I fought with that sleeping bag for 2 nights before I figured out that there was a drawstring to tighten the top of it around my head. Even so, I couldn’t seem to get it properly adjusted for maximum warmth. Both the tent and the sleeping bag were confining, and I had difficulty sleeping each night. Likewise, each morning, I awoke with a lingering headache and nausea. I felt weak and tired for no reason. Whenever I would rise or descend along the side of the campsite I could feel my heartbeat in my throat. It is a very strange feeling and I don’t know how to describe it better. I didn’t know whether it was just altitude sickness, which we had been warned about, or whether it was just my mind playing tricks on me. I didn’t want to complain or draw any more attention to myself, so I took some ibuprofen and tried to keep it all to myself. I describe all this not for the sake of complaint, but so that you might understand how and why, even after the climb, I found the experience to be difficult.
Nothing could have prepared me for how I felt up in the mountain. I pride myself on being a very strong person and I had never felt so weak before. I hated to feel weak, and maybe more-so, I hated to show it. Alas, in the mountains I could neither deny nor hide my weakness. Similarly, I am the kind of person who does not allow myself to be in a position to require or receive grace, yet in the mountain, I found that I had no choice.
The next couple of days were kind of a strange blur, and ultimately the things I learned were more important than the things that I did, so here is an already long story made a little shorter. I only cried once on the mountain. I was overwhelmed with my feelings of unwellness and weakness. I hated that I struggled so much and that I did not ultimately make it to the top of the mountain. It was hard to imagine what I might to take away from the experience other than a feeling of failure. But after getting that out of my system, I began to see more than my failure on the mountain. My eyes were opened to see and appreciate this place where I was. The beauty of the mountain which had been promised was delivered. There was great simplicity in the views I saw on the mountain and yet they were so majestic. The vastness of the mountains and the trees before me made me consider my smallness before their creator. It was humbling, just as the experience as a whole was proving to be. I took some time to consider what God might be showing me up in the mountain. The foremost theme of His revelation was not my weakness, but His grace. I thought of 2 Corinthians 12:9 and I realized I was experiencing the reality of that verse in full.
But he said to me, “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ’s power may rest on me.
I was experiencing God’s grace directly and by way of the people He had surrounded me with on this trip. I was experiencing more than the presence of grace, but my need for grace. I rarely consider my need for grace, because I live like a self-sufficient person in my daily life. I do not often ask for help - not even God’s, but I surely recognized my need in the mountain, and my heart was filled with songs and hymns about my need for God that week.
I also realized that I needed to be more compassionate. I thought I was a relatively compassionate person, but I also knew that in many circumstances, I believed that if a person tried hard enough they should be able to overcome most anything. I was a strong believer in mental fortitude - mind over matter, perhaps because I dealt with many difficult things in life and learned to adapt quickly. Being faced with my own physical limitation helped me to see that I needed to be more understanding of other kinds of limitations, whether I understood them or not.
I was also reminded that God designed us for community and then proceeded to provide it to us. As I listened to each life story on the trip, I could see that we had largely been drawn to our church and even this excursion, by our deep desire for genuine community. We as individuals were carrying some heavy burdens - burdens of past hurts, present fears, and future hopes that did not quite feel like real possibilities yet. Having shared our burdens, I felt that we might return home a little lighter. Again, I could see God’s design in living color.
My favorite moments on the mountain were not the ones where we explored or even the breathtaking views. They were the moments where I felt closest to God - worshiping with songs from my childhood during my solo hike down the mountainside. They were the moments when I felt closest to the people who embarked on this adventure with me - with arms around one another in difficult moments. They were the moments where I experienced closeness with both God and His people up on that mountain - singing praise and worship songs around a dying fire, beneath blazing-bright stars in the middle of the night. As hard as the hardest moments were, I would not give them up, because they produced my favorite moments. I realized at some point (maybe in hindsight) that the pain was for a moment, but the memories were forever.
Coming down the mountain for our final descent was easier, and in truth, it was a great relief. I was so ready for all the comforts that awaited us. A shower. An actual restroom. A warm bed. A kitchen-prepped meal. Having been up on the mountain made me feel increased gratitude for simple things that I took for granted in my daily life.
On the night that we returned, Pastor Brewer and his family had us over for dinner. They were amazing hosts. Pastor Brewer prepared steaks for each of us - to our individual liking. There was bread, salad, potatoes, salsa, and all kinds of snacks. Mrs. Brewer provided us with jackets and blankets. They lit a toasty fire. Their children made conversation and their granddaughters spread their infectious kid-giggles. There were games, fellowship, Oreos, and s’mores. It was such a lovely time. I thought to myself that this was exactly the kind of hospitality I hoped to offer someday. My heart was so full as we left that evening.
On the drive back, I considered all that I would take with me from the mountain. I had a renewed understanding of who God is and how good He is. I gained some meaningful insight into who I am and who I want to be. I developed an appreciation for the people on the trip with me and started some conversations that I hoped to continue, and eventually, grow into relationships and community. Although I had not made it to the top of the mountain, I came away from the experience with more than I bargained for. If you had asked me in the midst of the experience whether I would do this again, I would not likely have said yes. However, in retrospect, I want to do it again, do it better, and see what I might offer and gain from the next experience. Not next month or anything, but in time.