Oh Be Joyful!

The following is an excerpt from my new book Wilderness Skills for Women. (Broadman and Holman 2008)

In this you greatly rejoice, though now for a little while you may have had to suffer grief in all kinds of trials. These have come so that your faith—of greater worth than gold, which perishes even though refined by fire—may be proved genuine and may result in praise, glory and honor when Jesus Christ is revealed. Though you have not seen him, you love him; and even though you do not see him now, you believe in him and are filled with an inexpressible and glorious joy, for you are receiving the goal of your faith, the salvation of your souls. 1 Peter 1:6–9 

The massive rock face that I found myself clinging to for dear life did not seem anything at all like its name. I would have described it as “menacing,” “foreboding,” or “fearful,” not “Oh-be-joyful.” It wasn’t even a pretty mountain. Instead, it was a mass of ugly boulders, dark and grey, piercing the sky— very Lord of the Rings. Ironically, the peak our guide chose for us to climb during this wilderness adventure was given this profoundly spiritual name—“Joy.” And yet, there I was stuck and clinging to a boulder, feeling anything but joyful, only an embarrassing twenty-five feet from the summit.

I really wanted to crawl back down, to forgo the thrill of seeing the view from the summit for just a taste of the familiar— the solid, flat ground I liked to call “safety.” But looking back down the mountain didn’t give me the sense of security that I desired. No, craning my neck around while still tightly gripping my new best friend, I attempted to look back down the mountain for an escape route. Oh yes, I forgot to mention one important little nugget. There was no trail on this mountain— just rock, and tons of it. Looking back only intensified my fear. For in fact, I couldn’t see anything. A thick cloud, milk-like in appearance (not the skim kind, I tell ya) obscured my view and left me feeling paralyzed and freaking out just a tiny bit. OK, who am I kidding? I was borderline “crazy place."

Then I heard the voice: “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.” It was the voice of my guide encouraging me to press on. Backpacking with my girlfriends 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’d call a tree- hugging nature-girl. Now, don’t get me wrong. I love the outdoors. As long as my expeditions end each night with a hot shower and 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 this trip was supposed to be a simple learning experience about wilderness skills, and absolutely at no point was I supposed to be in danger. I was in the midst of this memo to self when my guide called out again, “You don’t need to be afraid.Trust me. You are almost to the top.”

Sure, I trusted her, but at that moment I didn’t so much love the idea of proving this trust by starting to climb again. My guide continued encouraging me by explaining that I was only experiencing what wilderness experts call “perceived fear versus actual fear.” The fact that my route was unknown, the boulders slippery, and my vision limited was causing the situation to feel more dangerous than it actually was. She reassured 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, This fear seems pretty “actual” to me. I mulled over her advice and reasoned it must be true.

You see girls, my guide knew the wilderness. She was experienced, knowledgeable, and well trained. The girl had skills: climbing skills, backpacking skills, nunchuk skills, survival skills. She’d lived for months on end in the wild and hiked mountains the globe. Needless to say, I felt I could trust her.

Yet I didn’t budge. I was torn. Gripping my rock, I decided to not go up and to not go down. I would just wait. Perhaps, in some miracle of miracles, a trail would materialize—kind of like on Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade when the bridge appears and Harrison Ford makes it safely across the chasm. Perhaps a stair with 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 climbing was my stinking pride. My pride really didn’t want the humiliation of scooting back down the mountain on my bootie, but then again, to go forward into the cloud—into the scary unknown was a little too much for a girl afraid of heights.

And there, on the side of that mountain, I would still be today if another voice had not spoken to my heart: “Marian, don’t quit. Don’t stop. Don’t fear what you cannot see. Don’t turn back because the way is tough. Press on. I have something for you at the summit.” And girls, let me just say I knew this voice.

This was the voice of Jesus, my real Wilderness Guide, calling me to overcome my fear.

I began to pray, “Lord, I know You are calling me to climb, but I’m afraid. Help me to reach this summit. Everything in me wants to go back to camp, pack my backpack, and hike back to the car, but I know You have a purpose in this journey. Help me.” And then, I heard the familiar words, “Walk by faith and 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. There I learned the reason the mountain was named “Oh-be-joyful.” For within minutes of arriving at the peak, the thick clouds parted, revealing the most spectacular view. 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, clear rivers, and wild flowers—the view from the summit was breathtakingly beautiful.

I simply had no idea what glory was behind that cloud.

Inhaling the sweet mountain air, I exhaled, “Oh, be joyful!” 

Like my personal season before it, in this wilderness journey I faced difficulties, terrifying terrain, and moments of despair and desperation, but the ascent to the summit proved my training ground—for in facing fear I found the muscles of faith.

Sometimes walking with Jesus means our vision is obscured by clouds, and at times we face obstacles that evoke such fear that we would rather forsake the journey than keep going. And yes, sometimes following Jesus means we trust His voice evenwhen we can’t see His face.

But girls, isn’t that the thrill of the adventure?

During the months of heartbreak and confusion, I sensed God speaking one message to me over and over again: “Don’t miss the wild for the wilderness.” What did this mean? Finally, I figured out this meant that I should open my eyes of faith and see the powerful hand of God moving. This phrase reminded me to not lose sight of the incredible plan of God in the midst of the wilderness—even if my perspective was temporarily lim- ited by a cloud.

Friends, in case you haven’t figured this one 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 Godness 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.