The Truth About Mountain Tops

There is something strange that I have been participating in since my first week of returning to Alaska that is exhausting, unpredictable and somewhat addicting.  Up until this week, I could not put my finger on why my sister and I continue to return to hike an intimidating mountain not once but twice each week.

The other day as we made our first dedicated winter mount, breaking through snow past our knees on parts of the trail, gasping for breath as the cold air burned our lungs, I had to ask myself, “Why am I willfully here?”  

Most days, we have the trail to ourselves as few people have chosen this particular mountain as their path to inner healing.  Parts of the mountain's course is a steep 45-degree incline. Sometimes hikers are headed down the trail as we are inching our way forward.  Almost without fail, the hikers offer advice that might be helpful, never forgetting to let us know that “it’s windy at the top.”

One day, in particular, I was irritated as the casual comment once again flowed off the tongue of a seasoned hiker, “It’s windy at the top.”  

“Isn’t it lovely that everyone who passes us takes it upon themselves to let us know that they made it to the top?” I spewed.  “Not so windy down here, especially when you’re hugging a tree trying to catch your breath,” I huffed with just a touch of sarcasm.  

Humbling.  The mountain humbles me with each step. Discussions on the mountain come from a different mindset than conversations off the mountain.  The real me is safe to come out, as my humanity reveals itself with each labored step.  I am neither ashamed nor embarrassed with the exposure of my heart on my climb up the mountain.

In real life, we are all climbing mountains.  Every day we either take a few steps toward the top with hopes of a summit or slide down a few steps relearning something that we missed the first time around.  

It would be a lonely climb indeed if not for those climbing with us.  If one falls, there is one to pick them back up.  If one is weak, we borrow from the strength of our partner.  Real issues find real answers on the climb, not so much on the summit.  

Celebration and exhilaration replace exhaustion and hopelessness upon summiting the mountain (which is to “reach the highest level or degree that can be obtained.”) 

However, the truth about mountain tops is that the real change happens during the climb when you aren’t aware that something internal is happening. 

I’ll never forget the day we made our first summit.  

As we stood on the rocky peak, trying to maintain our balance against the strong winds, we threw our arms into the air and shouted, “IT REALLY IS WINDY AT THE TOP!” 

Perhaps the hikers had shared a moment of exhilaration with us as a means to motivate us to keep on pressing toward our goal.  They weren’t trying to belittle us or to rub our faces in the fact that they had beaten us to the top.  

Each time we turn to head back down the mountain, a part of my heart feels alive. Usually, a piece I did not even know had been dead.  

As we pass another hiker on our way to the bottom, we greet him as if we are old friends.  We chat for a moment, give him a high five, and then without thinking, we both shout back over our shoulders, “It’s windy at the top!”

Stay the Course...

Sheila Cote

Wounded Soldiers

With Veteran’s Day barely behind us, I found myself watching a special on TV this week about wounded soldiers.

At the close of service at church last Sunday, our pastor honored the men and women who have fought for our freedom as well as those whose children have gone off to war.  Some returned scarred both internally and externally; others did not return.

Pastor became emotional as his words failed to express the deep gratitude his heart could not contain.  Those of us who have never fought for our country have much to learn from our war veterans.

As I sat watching the veteran’s learn how to fly fish in Yellowstone National Park, my respect rose to new heights.  The guide shared how fly fishing puts salve on the wounds of the wounded soldiers, giving their minds a place to find peace.  

The wounded soldiers were a diverse group of men.  Some had lost an eye, fingers or their voices.  Others without limbs were carried through the sand on their wheelchairs.  Some were visibly still mourning the loss of what had once been as they tried to believe that life could still be good, albeit different.  Others showed no expression, choosing instead to live life with no emotion or feeling in an attempt to deal with their pain.

These men, all once physically strong, were now broken, weak and humble.  As I continued to take in the stories held in each soldier’s eyes, I was given a picture of a new definition of tough.  Each man exhibited strength and fortitude, though trapped within a body that convinces otherwise.  

Many volunteers helped in the fly fishing outing; wounded soldiers of a different kind.  The volunteers simply cared for the soldiers and in the process their own wounded hearts found healing.  For a moment all felt right with the world as I beheld ordinary people who saw past the outward appearances and into the brave hearts and souls of the wounded. 

On this journey we call life; we must care for one another.  Whether we have been on battle fields fighting for our country’s freedom or on battle fields fighting for our family, our children or our own lives, we are all wounded soldiers.  We are all deeply flawed and broken; there are no exceptions.

As the TV special came to a close, the words “The Fight is Not Over” flashed onto the screen. 

As the Lord continues to give us insights into the hardships we all must endure as good soldiers, let’s remember that we need each other.  Our fight is not over until at last we meet the Commander in Chief face to face.

Stay the Course...

Sheila Cote

Be Still

Over the last several months there has been a recurring theme in my life in regard to my relationship with God.  As I fumble and strive to make heads or tails out of what my life in Alaska should look like, something has changed.

“Be still and know that I am God” has become the continuous, repetitive live stream of conversation with my Father.  Everywhere I turn, every time I am anxious, every time I attempt to make something happen, at the beginning and end of each day and everywhere in between-- He whispers for me to be still.  The literal translation for “be still” is “shut up!” God is telling me to shut up and to listen.

My personality despises being still.  Everything I have strived for and attached my name to pushes against being still.  Being still is what happens when you sleep or when you die; and in between you wear yourself out doing great things for God and leaving your mark on the world.

I have been angry, impatient and hurt in my attempts to be still and obey His one request.  I have felt benched, forgotten and insignificant. I have pretended to be still so that He will allow me to jump back into the flow of life; but He is no fool who knows my heart.

However, as weeks have turned into months something has been slowly happening within me.  I’m not certain how to put words to my lessons in stillness.  My mind is going through a renewal process; at times I can feel it happening in the stillness.  The worries of the world have decreased as my faith in God has increased.  

In the tiny moments He is beside me, within me—His breath so close in the stillness that I want to reach out and touch His face. So present is He at times, I am afraid to speak for fear that He may speak back and I will not be able to breathe under the weight of His voice.

As I continue to be still and know that He is God, I find myself caring more about people, more specifically those who do not yet know this God of the universe. My heart is heavy, my desire to reach the lost greater than my desire to have a career, make a great salary, or make a name for myself.  The only mark I want to make on the world is to allow the river of life within me to flow out of me into a parched, thirsty world.  His desire is that none should perish; in the stillness I pray that my desire would match His.

Instead of wondering what I can be or what I can do, in the stillness Father is showing me who I am.  I am His; I have been bought with a great price.  He gave His son so that I might have real life.  Real life is found in the stillness of His presence.  Real life is found when I shut up and listen.

I know that this season of being still, as all seasons have a way of doing, will change. 

But for now, I will remain still, covered with His feathers under His wings tucked away in His faithfulness somewhere in the mountains of Alaska.

Stay the Course...

Sheila Cote

Abandoned House

Isn't it ironic how sometimes we need to go backward before we can move forward? I wrote this piece several years ago when we lived in the beautiful farm country of Wisconsin.  This was the day I decided to trust that God's plan for my life was better than my own plans.  Revisiting our altars of remembrance--line in the sand moments--is necessary, as life likes to throw us curve balls.

I have my very own abandoned house.  It happens to be an old country home on a beautiful piece of property with a winding driveway with pine trees lining the drive.  I found it, a fact which kind of makes it mine.  Because it’s on my running route on a back country road, I have slowly claimed it, little by little, as I waited patiently for a For Sale or No Trespassing sign to be posted, to no avail.

This summer the grass grew high, and sometimes I would walk part way up the driveway just to take a peek at the unmaintained beauty of the place.  Once I took my husband, and we ventured all the way up to the house where I persuaded him to pick a few lilacs from the lilac tree for a party I was hosting.  It seemed a shame to let their beauty go to waste where no one could see or smell them.  It appears that I am both a trespasser and a thief!

As the months have passed, my bravery has grown.  Yesterday on my fall run, I was drawn to the abandonment of the place.  I made a sudden change of plans and turned into the driveway, crunching pine needles underfoot as I ran all the way to the house.  I needed to be alone, needed to hear silence, needed to feel abandonment from my own self.

The long grass had fallen over and was turning brown, so I crunched my way through the back yard.  I dared myself to enter the rolling woods with yellow, red and orange leaves softly blowing from the towering oak trees creating a blanket of beauty on the forest floor.  Entering my new world of abandonment felt both dangerous and freeing.  I turned off my iPod so I could hear every noise (and for the slim chance that I might have to defend myself should a person mysteriously appear and scare me half out of my mind.)

This afternoon I was drawn back to my abandoned house.  I realized that I am wholly free from restraint, just as the property is, when I am in its presence.  I ventured further into the woods, coming upon two of the largest oak trees I have seen.  As I lay on the green moss next to a blanket of colorful leaves, I stared up at the size and strength of the trees.  I found it impossible to not worship God as His presence filled me with awe and wonder.

I realized more clearly that God is asking me to live my life in total abandonment of self and, instead, in total surrender to Him.  I realized that true abandonment requires me choosing to give up myself, unequivocally, to the control of God, never again claiming a right to what has been given up.  A true abandoned house in the hands of a faithful Owner.

As I left my abandoned property this afternoon, I secretly acknowledged that it did not belong to me.  It had not chosen to be abandoned, it belonged to no one.  I, on the other hand, had a choice to make as I clicked on my iPod and shuffled back down the crunchy pine needled drive.

Stay the Course...

Sheila Cote'