Young Writers Society

At 5:20 in the morning, I heard Mount Gilmore issue its

challenge. It sat wondering if I would in fact respond and try to conquer its

rocky slopes. Not wanting to regret anything, I got out of my sleeping bag and

got my backpack ready for the hike. The peaceful breathing of the rest of the

guys around me made me second-guess my decision. I mean why should I get up

before the sun does, and climb a mountain when I could sleep? And yet I still

found myself drowsily walking over to the church van and the group of students

clustered at the back of it eating muffins. I entered the circle of students

and nibbled at a streusel muffin as we waited for a couple more people to make

their way over to the van. The sun began to make its appearance and shed its

light on the farm our youth group was camping at, giving everything a soft

glow, yet still unable to reach some persistent shadows. As if taking a cue

from the sun, we all piled into the van and set off on our way to the bottom of

the proclaimed Mount “Killmore”. Other sleepy farms and countless trees rolled

past my window during the 10 minute ride. We eventually came to a stop on a

deserted gravel road, surrounded by innumerable plants, hills, birds, and the

magnificent mountain top. Stepping out of the van, I finally felt excited for

our adventure. After a couple of group “before” pictures, we set off at a quick

walk. Following the rough road for several minutes, we then took the trail less

traveled up to the mountain top. Now it begins. The morning was still cool,

providing some relief for us as the gradual hill began to aggressively increase

its ascent. If you were to look at us from a distance, we would look like a

line of tiny black ants traversing their way up an ant hill. I kept pace with

my youth pastor, Dave, as he led us up the trail. “This won’t be that bad,” I

thought, “I have gone on runs much more difficult than this hike.”

Nevertheless, I couldn’t deny the sweat gathering on my forehead and the burning

in my quadriceps. After several rests to regroup and rehydrate, we continued

onto a more level part of the trail; but, like a thought in the back of my

mind, the uphill grade was still there. We were surrounded by tons of black,

dead trees. Scourged by a forest fire the year before, the area still smelled

like ash. We had to forge our own path breaking branches and getting our

clothes all sooty. I looked up from the unstable, rocky trail and saw the

latter half of our journey: a dramatically steeper rock jutting out from the

more forgiving hill we had just climbed. “Ah, Mount Killmore,” I thought to

myself, “Now it makes more sense…” This is where the mountain really begins.

Walking up to the massive rock, I realized that I would have to do some climbing.

From my viewpoint I could only see one, relatively short rock-wall that I would

have to ascend. I had expected the ground to be flat once I overcame the

deceivingly small wall, but I was terribly wrong. Realizing that I would have

to climb up the rest of the mountain with no respite of flat ground, I once

again felt the clawing of my greatest fear: heights. Only looking back briefly

to see just how far I could fall, my muscle became as tense as my mind. With

adrenaline, rushing through me just as much as fear was, I inched up the

mountain, grasping large rocks and barren bushes. With every step, small rocks

would slip out from under my feet and tumble down towards the rest of the

hikers like a waterfall. “What am I doing!?” I thought, realizing just how high

up I was and how easily I could fall. Well, onward and upward, as they say. We

eventually came to where the trail ran along a thin precipice, only room for

one person to pass along the trail at a time. I ventured another look down from

the cliff and I almost snapped. I was on the verge of giving up before

realizing that I would have to go back down the way that I had come; and my

desire to conquer Mount Gilmore still had life as well. I continued in my slow,

cautious manner up the mountain until, finally, we came to a flat area

overlooking the valley we had come from. I sat down with my back to the

mountain and finally looked down at the squares of farmland and other adjacent

mountains. The sun was out in all its radiance and the sky was an immaculate blue,

void of any white puffs of cloud. The view was majestic, and more than made up

for the fear-ridden climb. The creation I observed only reminded me of its

infinitely more majestic creator. After a rest, we all made the short, milder

climb to the very top of the mountain. The view was just as magnificent. A

great sense of accomplishment filled me: however hard the climb had been, I had

conquered my fears on it. Pastor Dave gave a short devotion and we then

descended down the other side of the mountain, which was a much more manageable

climb.

That night, as we were in a time of reflection and prayer while Pastor Dave played

some slow, gentle worship songs, I couldn’t keep my mind on God or prayer. The

only thing occupying my head were images of me climbing Mount Gilmore, with a

dizzying fall waiting below. I began to feel guilty that that was all I could

think about; but then I began to wonder if God was trying to tell me something.

I realized that I needed to pursue God and cling to Him with the same resolve

as that with which I clung to Mount Gilmore. I was holding on for my life. In

the same way, if I don’t hold onto God, I will fall away from Him just as fast

as if I had let go of the mountain.