Don't Miss The Wild

One time in my life have I ever had the opportunity to rock climb. I'm not a fan of climbing rocks by no means. One, its a terrible callous cause to a girls hands. Two, I DO NOT LIKE HEIGHTS ( I can not even dive off of a diving board without getting the phobia sweats and anxiety). However, this was on my bucket list of things to do. Needless to say, my rock wasn't very large in reality ( to most people) it was after all at Mt. Cheaha. However, to me it was a massive rock face that I found myself clinging to for dear life. I would have described it as "menacing," "foreboding," or "fearful." It was a mass of ugly boulders, dark and grey, to me it pierced the sky very Lord of the Rings. Once I started I really wanted to crawl back down, to forgo the thrill of seeing the view from summit for just a taste of the familiar- the solid, flat ground I like to call "safety." But, looking back down the rock I didn't get the sense of security I desired. No, craning in my neck around while still tightly gripping my new best friend, I attempted to look back down the boulder to escape my route. I was borderline "crazy place."

Then I remember hearing a voice of an older woman who was also climbing say: "Keep moving. Don't give up. Take one more step. Place your foot to the left. Lean your weight against the boulder and pull yourself up." Backpacking with a few of my good friends was supposed to be fun: sleeping outdoors, gathering firewood, finding water, building shelter. You know going granola. Speaking of granola, I'm sure this goes without saying that I'm not what you call a tree hugging nature girl. Now, don't get me wrong I love to fish, hike, really do anything outdoors in general. As long as my expeditions end each night with a hot shower and a soft bed, I'm all good. I'm just saying-visiting nature is fine, but "becoming one with nature" is an altogether different thing.

And at this point in the journey, I am so "one with nature" it is pathetic. It would be hard to discern where the "mountain" ended and my body began.. we were "close,"if you know what I mean. As I huddled next to the wall, I reflected on the fact that in no point in this trip was supposed to be in danger. The older lady continued to encourage me saying that I was only experiencing what wilderness experts called "perceived fear versus actual fear." She assured me that this was a case of perceived fear. I was actually safe. I was in a good place. I would make it to the summit.

Still clinging to my rock, I thought to myself, this fear seems pretty "actual" to me. I mulled over her advice and reasoned it must be true. You see my new "guide" knew her wilderness. After all, she looked to be in her sixties and was out climbing big rocks for an extra curricular. She was experienced, knowledgeable, and well trained (obviously). She explained to me that she lived for months on end in the wild and hiked mountains across the globe. Needless to say, I felt I could trust her.

Yet I didn't budge. I was torn. Gripping my rock, I decided not to go up and not to go down. I would just wait. Perhaps in some miracle of miracles, a trail would materialize- kinda like Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade when the bridge appears and Harrison Ford makes it safely across the chasm. Perhaps a nice handrail or a gondola would appear if I waited long enough.

Waiting. Waiting. Waiting.

Alas, no magical ski lift emerged to rescue me.

Honestly, at first the only thing that tempted me to continue my climb was my stinking pride. My pride really didn't want the humiliation of scooting down the mountain on my bootie; but then again, to go forward in to the cloud-into the scary unknown- was a little too much for a girl afraid of heights.

I began to pray. "Lord I know you are calling me to climb, but I am afraid. Help me reach the summit. Everything in me wants to turn back to camp, pack my backpack, and hike back to the car, (head to a Hilton), but You know I have a purpose in this journey. Help me." And then, I heard the familiar words, "Walk by Faith not by sight."

With that, I released my death grip on the boulder and took the proverbial "step of faith." And then another, and then another, until I found myself at the summit. The only word to describe that moment was, yes, you guessed it, joy. Now, with clear vision, I could see in the distance magnificent mountain peaks and valleys, and endless green trees- the view was breathtaking beautiful..

Like my current season, in the wilderness I faced difficulties, terrifying terrain, and moments of despair and desperation, but the ascent to the summit proved my training ground- for facing fear I found muscles of faith.

Sometimes walking with Jesus means our vision is obscured by clouds, and at times we face obstacles that evoke much fear that we would rather forsake the journey than keep going. And yes, following Jesus means we trust His voice even when we can't see His face. But isn't that the thrill of adventure?

During the months of heartbreak, confusion, and unemployment, I sensed God speaking one message to me over and over again: "Don't miss the wild for the wilderness." What did that mean? Finally, I figured it out this meant I should open my eyes of faith and see the powerful hand of God moving. This phrase reminded me to not loose sight of the incredible plan of God in the midst of the wilderness-even if my perspective was temporarily clouded.

In case you haven't figured it out yet, we serve a wild God who isn't predictable and who isn't at all tame. Much like his creation, He is gloriously wild. But isn't it His untamable goodness that makes Him so glorious?

Reflecting over the heartache, disappointment, and misery of my wilderness season, I can honestly say it was all worth it. For there, I experienced the wild adventure of trusting God. Girlfriends, I am so grateful that God is God, and I am not. I'm so thankful that God said no to my plan because He had a far greater adventure in mind. But most of all, my heart rejoices that God didn't leave me stuck in my fear and despair, clinging to a boulder on the side of a mountain. Instead, He has called me to rise and move- for the summit was too good to miss.

When a girl trust Jesus, the real Wilderness Guide, she places her faith in the One who knows His way through the wild frontier and is familiar with her sufferings. I can tell you this much: if you choose to trust Him, your life will not be boring, and it very well may not be safe, but I know for a fact that it will be a wild adventure. So my final advice or should I say my skill: don't you dare miss the wild for the wilderness.