Conquering Gray's Peak

It was a strange sort of parade, just four people slowly picking their way up a steep mountain in Colorado. But it was a parade, and I was the leader. Cheering crowds seemed to be all around. They were the people who had been praying for me since I learned that the cancer I had fought five years ago had come roaring back, settling in the bones of my back and skull.

A year earlier our son, John, had regaled us with stories of climbing Colorado’s famed 14,000-foot peaks, and I got excited. “That’s what I’d like to do when we come out next summer — climb a fourteener with you.”

“I’ll take you up the mountain, Mom, but only if you get in shape this winter,” he said. “There is no way we’re going if you don’t.”

A bend in the road

Not long after our conversation, I began to notice some back pain. I had a routine checkup with my oncologist, and the bone scan he ordered showed areas that could either be metastatic bone cancer or degenerative discs. A repeat scan brought the dreaded news.

A few days before I began radiation, I e-mailed family and friends to pray for me. “We are asking for time so I can see our sons get married, do more speaking and writing, and just be with my husband, Ben,” I wrote. “I want you to know I am OK with God’s time frame. My life is not my own; it is His. He has numbered my days, and I am fine with that.”

People began writing and calling. “Put me on your e-mail list so I can be praying for you,” they wrote. Soon the list had grown to more than 100 addresses, and each e-mail I sent out was forwarded to many more.

Every morning I received messages from people praying for me. From Nairobi, Kenya, to a village in Germany, from Washington to southern Florida, people supported me through a confusing and frightening time. College students, doctors, NASA engineers, professors, waitresses, pastors, mothers of small children, grandmothers were all praying for me.

The defining moment

The ascent of Gray’s Peak started early on the morning of June 17, 2002; the three guides, John and two friends, carried my equipment to make it as easy as possible for me. The 10-mile hike up and down the mountain took us eight hours.

When we started out, John said, “This is your climb, Mom. You set the pace.” So I stepped out and started the journey, but after 30 minutes on the trail, as the path became steeper, I was unsure I’d make it to the top. We stopped frequently, and every time I looked at the summit, it seemed impossibly far away.

John gently encouraged me to keep going, no matter how slow the pace. So I pressed on, concentrating on just putting one foot in front of the other. About an hour from the summit my resolve was all but gone, when we saw five mountain goats. I grabbed my camera and started taking pictures of them, forgetting my fatigue and discouragement.

The goats moved to let us pass, but they stayed nearby. John told me he had never encountered a mountain goat on the 15 peaks he had climbed, and others said the same thing. Maybe God had sent the goats as an encouragement to me.

After three and a half hours, we reached the summit. When I stepped onto the top of that massive mountain, I was overcome with emotion. I couldn’t stop crying. Then I looked around. Hundreds of miles of snowcapped mountains, pristine valleys and glacial lakes held me captive.

We had lunch at the top, and after 20 minutes of very little oxygen we began the descent. We hiked across a small snowfield and started down the mountain. I had assumed that ascending the peak would be the hardest, but the trip down was much harder.

When we finally reached John’s truck, I was exhausted. I realized why the climb was such a big deal to me. Two years ago, I had torn the tibial tendon in my left foot, and after complicated surgery and six months of recovery, I was not sure I would ever walk normally again. Then the cancer reoccurred. Thinking about all of that during my climb made me focus on God’s incredible graciousness to me.

Debilitating surgery. Cancer. God’s graciousness. Can those really go together? In spite of the hardships over these last few years, I am amazed at the incredible blessings God has brought into my life. My faith has deepened. My knowledge of who God is has increased, and I understand the Scripture that talks about God’s “peace that transcends all understanding.”

In reflecting on the ascent of Gray’s Peak, I guess it really wasn’t such a strange parade after all. The crowds that day, although I couldn’t see them, were the body of Christ doing what it was designed to do: carrying my burden when I couldn’t carry it myself and encouraging me to persevere in running the race that was set before me.

More mountains

Now I am focusing on other mountains I have to climb: the mountains of fear, doubt and mortality. Yesterday, I didn’t even realize there were mountains to climb! I know my mountains are similar to the ones many of you have to climb as well. They just have different names.

Climbing those mountains will take me to the next level in my understanding of God. I climb them to get on with the business of living and away from the business of dying. He just wants me to lace my hiking boots, put one foot in front of the other and climb every new peak. That is God’s grace to me.