Pike's Peaked

If I ascend to heaven, You are there; if I make my bed in Sheol, behold, You are there.         --Psalm 139:8

When I was younger, my mom would often look at me and assess my well-being.  If I looked a little pale, drained, washed out, pallid, anemic, sallow, indisposed or ill, she would say, "Son, are you all right?  You look a little pekid."  (I think that is a mis-spelling, but I did it on purpose--the term as she used it had two syllables, whereas the more proper spelling "peaked" is often spoken with one syllable; and that pronunciation has a different meaning, as in "his work peaked in the 90's, and it has gone downhill from there.")

Fast-forward to this week.  I have just gotten back from a family vacation with my sister and our mother.  We spent three days in the Colorado Rockies, marveling at God's creation.  One of the sites we visited was Pike's Peak. At 14,115 feet, it is one of the tallest mountains in the Colorado Springs area.

It was my turn to drive my mother's brand new crossover vehicle--bigger than the car I drive, but not as large as some of the Sports Utility Vehicles on the road today.  Needless to say, I was trying to be very careful.  As we ascended past 11,000 feet, near the tree line, my sister commented that I seemed not to be enjoying the scenery as much as she was: my eyes were focused on the center-stripe in the middle of the road.  After she had made this observation, she laughed.  Out loud.  This was followed by some good-natured teasing.  "Don't drive too close to the edge, it's a sheer drop-off there," she said, followed by more laughter.

My grip tightened on the steering wheel, and after a few switch-backs where the road snaked up the mountain face, I started panicking.  I mouthed a prayer, "God help us."  Apparently, my sister thought I was kidding, because she laughed again.  "Mom," she said, "he's praying up here."  I was very thankful when the park rangers motioned us off the road into a parking area, and we had to ride a shuttle to the summit.  Even then, however, I could not look out the window of the 16-passenger van:  my eyes were focused on the seat-back in front of me.  I was praying for myself, my family, and the thirteen strangers in the van with me, but especially for the driver.

You could say this event brought me closer to God.

I let my sister drive down the mountain.  I was still not comfortable on the descent until we reached the tree line again.  I don't know if I thought that, in the event of an accident, the trees would break our fall, or if I felt more comfortable with evergreens in my line of vision, as opposed to only the sky and a sheer cliff past the edge of the road (mere inches from our vehicle.)  I suppose that I should be grateful that my sister felt secure enough with me behind the wheel that she could engage in some light teasing and laughter.  Unfortunately, I did not share in her revelry at the time.

You know, people sometimes talk about "mountain-top" experiences contrasted with periods "in the valley," to describe the highs and lows of their spiritual pilgrimage.  I get it.  In the modern mind trained by charts and graphs, up is always good, and down is always bad.  However, in the real world, valleys are often lush and fertile, while mountains are treacherous and steep.

Jesus said that with a little faith, we can move mountains (Matthew 17:20).  As we watched the mountain move past our vehicle, it took all the faith I had to continue the ascent.  It is the same with our walk:  if God has called us to climb the mountain, it is our duty to continue the ascent, step by step, even if our path seems unstable.  Even if the devil laughs at us, and mocks our fear, and points out the perils in our path, our God-given responsibility remains the same: to put the mountain behind us, and move past it.

There may be a time when our faith is strong enough to remove the mountain, and cast it into the sea (ref. Matthew 21:21).  I believe, however, that the only way to strengthen our faith to the point where we can remove the mountain completely is to climb it ourselves, as many times as it takes to conquer it.  The lady who was driving the shuttle to the summit of Pike's Peak was about as old as I am, but she was not afraid like I was.  She had been on that same road before, many times.  She was more familiar with the terrain because she had been over it time and again.  To her, it was like driving in the valley, but only because she had developed the skill and confidence brought on by climbing to the summit again and again.

You may think that your situation is difficult, that the climb is hard or the path treacherous.  You may wish that God would remove the mountain from your path.  However, it might be that God has placed you on that path for a purpose.  As John Bunyan wrote in Pilgrim's Progress,

“This hill, though high, I covet to ascend; 
The difficulty will not me offend. 
For I perceive the way to life lies here. 
Come, pluck up, heart; let's neither faint nor fear. 
Better, though difficult, the right way to go, 
Than wrong, though easy, where the end is woe.” 

Friend, do not think your spiritual walk has peaked.  You may feel pekid along the way, but the Great Physician is by your side. I would encourage you to read the rest of Psalm 139.

You have enclosed me behind and before, and laid Your hand upon me.  Such knowledge is too wonderful for me; it is too high, I cannot attain to it.  Where can I go from Your Spirit?  Or where can I flee from Your presence?  If I ascend to heaven, You are there; if I make my bed in Sheol, behold, You are there.  If I take the wings of the dawn, if I dwell in the remotest part of the sea, even there Your hand will lead me, and Your right hand will lay hold of me.  If I say, "Surely the darkness will overwhelm me, and the light around me will be night," even the darkness is not dark to You, and the night is as bright as the day.  Darkness and light are alike to you.  --Psalm 139:5-12

My weekly men's Bible study has been reading through the book of Jonah.  In chapter 2, Jonah said he prayed to the Lord from the belly of the fish--a cold, dark, isolated place that Jonah likened to Sheol, which means the placed of the dead.

I called out of my distress to the Lord, and He answered me.  I cried for help from the depth of Sheol; You heard my voice.  For You had cast me into the deep, into the heart of the seas, and the current engulfed me.  All Your breakers and billows passed over me.  So I said, "I have been expelled from Your sight.  Nevertheless, I will look again toward Your holy temple."  Water encompassed me to the point of death.  The great deep engulfed me.  Weeds were wrapped around my head.  I descended to the roots of the mountains.  The earth with its bars was around me forever, but You have brought up my life from the pit, O Lord my God.  --Jonah 2:2-6

Jonah was truly in the "valley of the shadow of death" (see Psalm 23:4), yet God was with him.  He is with you, as well.  Revelation 21:1 says that in the new Heaven and new Earth, there will be no more sea.  The treacherous oceans will no longer be allowed to swallow us up.  The pit will be there for the devil and his demons, but the mountain of Zion (the New Jerusalem) will be the throne of God.  We will be on that mountain in the presence of the Lord if we seek His face, and call on His Name.

Is it any wonder, then, that when I was feeling pekid on Pike's Peak, I prayed God's protection?