I find myself standing at the base of Sacagawea Peak, the highest in the Bridger Mountain Range of southwest Montana at 9,665 feet above sea level, and I’m contemplating my bid for the summit. It’s been a little over 12 months since my heart procedure and I’m 50 pounds lighter. I’ve been working hard to prepare for this climb, both physically and mentally, and yes, spiritually as well. I’m reminded, as I look up into the dizzying heights of this immensely magnificent mountain, that God used many mountains in His dealings with humanity. The “mountaintop experience” where Creator meets created. A place of revelation, epiphany, even transcendence—where God reveals His plans for us and where He revealed Himself to Moses on Mount Sinai.

Speaking of Mount Sinai, which rises out of the desert to a height of 7,497 feet, I began to wonder how Moses may have felt, at 80 years of age, at the prospect of climbing high above his comfort level more than once (Exodus 19-20; 24; 32; 34). Here I am at 66, accompanied by my beautiful 15-year-old granddaughter, Kate, as my coach, ready to climb out of my comfort zone and traverse the steep and switchbacked slopes of Sacagawea to find a better view of the world and of myself.

Here in the valley, where green things grow and cool waters flow, there is a sense of well-being, where we take for granted our comforts and enjoy them at leisure. Above the tree line, green things strive and cool, sweet waters flow seldom; though the air is as thin as a specter and the wind strips to the bone, freezing even the marrow, there exists a sense of well-being, of primitive belonging—the drive of our existence—to see where you have been and challenge what you thought possible.

Before taking my first step, my shining, ginger-haired guide asks me to drop everything that I don’t need for the journey to, or time on, the summit. She reminds me of Hebrews 12:1-2 by saying, “Lay aside every weight that so easily drags you down.” At the end of the day, I am glad I took her advice.

In the valley, there are trials and tribulations. For me, they are things that bite—from swarming deer flies to the threat of mountain lions and grizzly bears. These trials and tribulations are merely a “handshake” of things to come; altitude sickness, the fear of falling, the fear of failing, the immensity of the mountain itself and the idea of scaling it—all have thrown people into a paralyzing panic. The idea of quitting is a nagging whisper in my mind. Then, like the shimmering snow that covers the rocky crags of the mountain, the soft, sweet tones of Katie’s urging blanket the mountain of my doubt: “One more step, Grampus. We will rest in a moment.”

As we rise above the tree line, I begin to see the dangers and pitfalls of the rugged, worn footpath and the unforgiving depths beneath me. Fear begins to kindle in my heart and soul. Again, a simple word from my smiling, red-headed coach snuffs my fear and spurs me to another step: “You got this, Grampus. Don’t look down, always look up.” Steadily gaining altitude, we crunch and stumble through the crumbling, unstable scree; Kate asks me for a thumbs-up sign to make sure I am doing ok.

Several hours later we make it to where I summit that day, higher than even Moses ascended when he received the Ten Commandments. There my breathing is harder, but the view is magnificent. I lie down on the mountain and begin to thank God for this mountaintop experience and for the struggle to reach it. I know at this moment the “Rocky Mountain High” I am experiencing, the hard won victory I am savoring, is only to be enjoyed for a moment. I have to move on to the next, which means heading back down through new challenges, new valleys. “It’s totally awesome here, but I can’t stay here.” I think again to give thanks for the valley where I live, with it’s own provision and problems, it’s possibilities and pitfalls. God, in His incredible wisdom, gives us these “mountaintop experiences” to encourage and sustain us while we live and move and breathe in the valley. Psalm 23 (NIV) says it all:

“The Lord is my shepherd, I lack nothing. He makes me lie down in green pastures, he leads me beside quiet waters, he refreshes my soul.

He guides me along the right paths for his name’s sake.

Even though I walk through the darkest valley,

I will fear no evil, for you are with me; your rod and your staff,

they comfort me.

You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies.

You anoint my head with oil; my cup overflows.

Surely your goodness and love will follow me all the days of my life, and I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever.”