Last week, we continued the tradition we started back in 2012 by going to the place we always go when June rolls back around: Table Rock. The same crew from last year returned, and we were blessed to have another hiker with us, too -- Bethany! There was lots of reminiscing this trip as we thought about how fast time has gone since Braxton joined us for his first trip up the mountain three years ago. Now, we each carried a little one on our back as we ascended, step by step and pause by pause.
Carrying Bethany up was easier than carrying Braxton last year, probably because of the twenty-pound weight difference (haha) -- but I think it, also, had to do with mindset. Last year, I knew that I could carry big B up if I just kept moving forward at my own pace; and this year, I knew that I could carry little B up because I'd already proved to myself that it could be done. It only takes one trip up to this peak to realize that it's more than just a physical battle -- it's an emotional, spiritual, and mental one, too. I've said it before and I'll probably say it forever, but it's true: the reason I hike, the reason we hike, is for the perspective it brings. And for who it brings us closer to -- our Creator, each other, and ourselves.
I don't know what our annual trip will look like next year or the years to come, but I do know that I love showing our kiddos the world. Even though they won't remember everywhere we go or everything we've done, I hope that we are planting seeds of adventure and thrill and curiosity and endurance into their little heads and hearts. I pray that we are teaching them to keep pushing forward when you want to give up, to celebrate the little victories as wholeheartedly as they do the big ones, to keep their faces towards the sun, the not be afraid of the unknown, to consistently make time for fun, and to always invite others to come along. That's just the gist.
Maybe one day, years from now, they'll want us to come with them as they make their own discoveries. Or at the very least, they'll be excited to tell us all about them.
The temperatures this day weren't scorching like they typically are, which was a real treat. We made it all the way up under good cloud coverage and rays of sun peeking through. The way down, however, we got caught in the rain and hiked through wet mud and water running down our faces for about two miles. This was pretty crazy considering that in the seven years we've done hiked this trail, only two of them have involved rain: Braxton's first hike in 2015 and Bethany's first hike last week. Sure, it may be coincidence, but I chose to look at it a different way.
Parenthood is the hardest thing I've ever done, and I know that I'm not alone in those convictions. Before I became a mama, I had an idea of some of the trials we would face because I had watched others close to me walk through them. The difference was this, though: I had never walked through those trials as a mother, myself, as one whose heart would ache most and whose body and mind would be so tired. It's only been three years since I stepped into this new season of caring for my own children, and I've already had this thought haunt me more times than I can count: I can't do this.
But as I climbed stairs and rocks and sweated on the way to the mountaintop, and as I sloshed through the mud and maintained my balance over slick surfaces and wiped water from my face every few seconds on the way back down to the bottom, the thought of quitting never crossed my mind. I knew the climb would be worth it, just like I knew the feeling of accomplishment would be worth it when this difficult trek was complete -- and I was able to keep perspective and push forward. The hard stuff didn't outweigh the good stuff for me, for us, this day. And we did what we set out to do, making memories and increasing our strength along the way.
Now, imagine how empowering it would be if I would intentionally maintain this perspective in the midst of all the other hard things I face. Being a Christ-follower, a wife, a mother, a daughter, a sibling, a friend, a worship leader, a photographer, an adventurer -- all of these things come with different struggles and trials that tempt me to quit, to walk away, or to simply endure it with a poor attitude. But I want to endure hard things with joy, to press on when I want to give up, and to keep my eyes on the prize instead of hanging it in shame or frustration. Even the ones I never see coming. Difficult as that is, that's what I want. That's where real joy is found.
I want my children, the ones who I have been entrusted to shepherd, to notice this intentionality and to live this way, too. I don't want to simply tell them what to do without doing it first myself; instead, I want them to learn from me, to watch me take risks and keep my word and put one foot in front of the other when I'd rather not and not elevate my fear to the place my faith should be. I want to live a life that means something so they will, Lord willing, be inspired to do the same.
Because, contrary to what that little voice whispers in my ear, I can do this.
We all can. Sometimes we just need a little help, a little push, a little encouragement along the way. We need to be reminded that the pain is worth it. That the pain won't last forever.
Life is meant to be lived, not wasted. So let's live it fully!
No comments:
Post a Comment