Viewed in the distance through a car window, the hills that border Saskatchewan鈥檚 Qu鈥橝ppelle valley appear soft and gradual.
They lie.
For years I said I鈥檇 like to climb one of those infant mountains; sure I could reach the top in minutes. While attending a conference in the valley recently I had the opportunity. With each upward step I realized how wrong I鈥檇 been.
I might have done that once 鈥� at fifteen, growing up in B.C. On a good day, with my collie scampering ahead and yipping encouragement, I鈥檇 have bounded to the top with strength and breath to spare. But I have flatlander limbs now, well underdeveloped over the last quarter-century on the prairies. They don鈥檛 appreciate hills. Neither does my heart. It protests in great galumphing beats every time I decide we鈥檙e going up. Up anywhere, including stairs and ladders. Even up from bed some mornings.
Except for the extremely fit senior fellow who guided us, I was the oldest in the group, which included my son-in-law and eleven-year-old grandson. We followed a narrow path to the sky. On either side, poky grass and small cacti lay low, waiting for a tired rear to plunk itself down. At least one had done so the day before, only to be stabbed by a zillion cactus spears his wife had the unenviable job of later removing.
I started in the middle of the pack, enjoying the widening view of Echo Lake shimmering far below. But the hill got steeper. I couldn鈥檛 keep up. My breath came faster. My heart thudded in my ears, and my legs felt like cooked noodles.
The rest of the group passed me 鈥� all but a young father carrying a baby on his chest. I鈥檇 briefly chatted with Torrey the evening before. I鈥檇 also observed his patient interactions with his children. Other than that, we were strangers. 鈥淕o ahead,鈥� I said, with more confidence than I felt. 鈥淚鈥檒l get to the top eventually.鈥�
鈥淚 know,鈥� he grinned. 鈥淚鈥檒l just go with you for a bit.鈥� I could have hugged him in that moment. Chatting as we climbed at a more comfortable pace, we arrived at the top together. He had my back all the way.
Climbers surround us. Every day someone near you becomes winded by the steepness of their climb. Some face small hills; others, entire mountain ranges. Losses. Downturns. Relationship difficulties. Medical crises. Perhaps they thought it would be easy. Maybe not.聽 But walking beside them 鈥渇or a bit鈥� could make all the difference.
鈥淚 am with you always,鈥� Jesus told his disciples, 鈥渆ven to the end of the world.鈥� On our personal mountains, the ones that wind us and threaten defeat, his company is felt most through the presence of others. Those people, friends or strangers, who pull alongside as we climb. Not to pass; simply to keep us company. To encourage.
Know someone on a climb? Walk with them a bit, for Christ鈥檚 sake.
