One Foot In Front of the Other

*originally from a journal entry for June 2012, regarding my son Alexander's first High Adventure activity*

3:30AM - Ready to leave

Last week, my son went with his High Adventure scout group to climb Mt. Shasta (in California). The mountain is over 14,000 feet and their climb would start at about 7,000 feet. The day I dropped off my son, age 14, to make the drive to Mt. Shasta, he asked me if he really had to go. Sensing his fears, I reminded him that all he had to do was go one step at a time. I promised him that he could make it and that I believed in him.  I told him I would pray for him continually.  He outwardly nodded in agreement, but I could still sense his fear.  We then hugged goodbye as I held back the tears. As I drove away, I wondered if I had done the right thing.  Should I have allowed him to stay home?  Will he hate me forever? 

 

Stopped for lunch

After several hours, I checked in with one of his leaders to see how my son was doing. I happened to catch them while they had stopped at a restaurant for lunch.  My son, using the leader's phone, messaged me back, pleading to come home. I called him and we talked on the phone for a few minutes. He told me the hike up to base camp was steep and his pack was heavy. He was scared and whispered again into the phone that he wanted to come home.  I again reminded him to take it one step at a time and I promised him that he would be alright. After hanging up the phone, his father and I prayed for him. We specifically prayed that somehow his burden (or the heavy pack) would be lifted just a little bit so that he could make his climb and that he would be okay.

As the hours seemed to drag on, I would check the itinerary to see how far along they were in their journey.  I awoke at 4am just to be up when they were scheduled to begin their climb to the summit.  I prayed fervently and often.  

Mt. Shasta from freeway

Two days later, I could hardly contain myself for his arrival home.  Upon his safe return home, we held a strong and long embrace and tears fell softly from my eyes just from the sheer pride that I felt for his accomplishment of going on the trip when he wanted to turn back.  I was eager to find out how the climb went and I asked him to tell me everything. He told me that the mountain broke him.  He said that he started to cry just looking at the sight of the climb. He said, "seriously, Mom.  It broke me."  My heart sank.  I felt so horrible that I had not sheltered him from this disappointment.  Still looking at his strong face, I simply said, "Well, how did you do?"  He then said that he simply put one foot in front of the other and made the climb. It was hard. It was cold. It was steep. But he made it. I was SO impressed!

When I asked him how he did with his heavy pack, he told me that as he was making the climb (from the lot where the road ends up to base camp), one of the straps on his pack broke.  He said it was awful and the pack was so heavy and now he only had one strap to use.  He then told me that it was too much for him.  He couldn't do it.  The final hill to base camp was extremely steep and he had nothing left in him.  All he could say was, "help" as the tears welled in his eyes.  At that very moment, when it was too heavy to carry - at the steepest part of the hill, one of his leaders came up to him, reached out his hand and carried his pack for him to the top of the hill. He then returned to the bottom of the hill to retrieve his own pack. Tears began to stream down my face as I realized that my prayers for my son were answered. They were answered when another person, seeing my son's struggles and paying attention, decided to complete a simple act of kindness, love and service. He gave no thought of how hard it might be for him. He just reached out and carried the burden for my son until he was able to do so. 

Alexander and Brother Ducker - who carried his pack up the steep hill to base camp.

 Every time I think upon this experience with my son, tears fill my eyes at the beauty of our Father in Heaven who so fully and compassionately reaches out to us in our moments of difficulty.  The mountain broke my son and he cried out for help, just like the Savior did in the Garden of Gethsemane.  And in both circumstances, angels came to strenghten and uplift.  I can never doubt the hand of the Lord in our lives.  My son NEEDED to experience his own weakness to realize the majestic power of our Father in Heaven and the strength that comes from a simple prayer of the heart..."help".

Of note, On this day of the climb, due to the sun climbing higher in the sky which would mean a rapid decline in temperature after it peaked, my son did not make it to the summit, but he did climb to over 14,000 feet.  He was only a few hundred feet from the top.  He was the youngest person in the troop at 14 and he climbed the highest, save for the 5 experienced climbers in their group.  I am so proud of him!!!  The best thing, of course, was the slide going down the mountain.  8 hours to climb up...2 hours to slide down!  

*actual pictures of my son's troop to be added later*

**Actual pictures that my son took of his trip will be added soon**