On to Higher Ground, Crystal K [speld decodable readers .TXT] 📗

I strap on my camel's back and slip on an old pair of holey Vans that are hanging on to life the way I'm hanging on to what sun is left, as threatening storm clouds hover in the distance. I consider bringing my head phones but quickly decide against it because
today I want to hear myself think without drowning out reality with noise.

I head out the back door toward the open field that serves as the entrance to the majestic mountain, my refuge from the world. As I make my ascent, the dirt trail narrows and fades into deer trails without a destination. I blaze my own path up a steep ridge that
taunts me as I'm reminded that I'm inferior to it's beauty and perfection. I breathe in my surroundings as if I've been stranded in the chaous of the city and starving for clean air.

As my heart pumps harder, my thoughts come easier as I reflect on the whirl wind of the past week. Even the simplest of decisions can seem impossible sometimes and some days it feels like I'm up to bat in baseball, a sport as foreign to me as the Dalhe Lama, and the pitcher's throwing curve balls one after another while the crowd whispers and laughs at
my inexperience. But in the mountains I never feel lost, even when I don't know where I'm going til I get there. There's something dignified and noble about nature; I suppose it's because of the holy hands who created it.

I can feel the heat of the sun now, radiating through the shirt on my back and the clouds have surrendered to the northern part of the sky. My calves burn as I push hard to the top of the first peak. My lower back aches and I enjoy the taste of pain in my body that reminds me of my vulnerability. It's that pain or fear of pain that some call adrenalin,when you tie into a rope and choose to back over a 400 foot cliff just to taste the freedom of somehow feeling that for a couple seconds you faced the probability of death and overcame it. That's what separates the nuts from the sane. That's what distinguishes the person who gets a thrill working, fighting, sweating and pushing to carry their body up a rock face just to feel alive and the person who looks at a rock wall and sees a passing landscape and doesn't give it a second thought.

A rustle in the bushes catches my attention as a squirrel jets out into the open just to run for cover in an identical bush a few yards away. It's logic reminds me of my lack of rationalizing in high school when I would attempt to escape from my problems just to find myself diving right back into them again like a scared spitless squirrel with no sense of direction. I can laugh a little about it now, as long as I don't spend too much time replaying those memories; memories that have become scars that I am convinced are healed over until a moment of exposure breaks the ground beneath my feet and leaves me
much too emotional for my health. But despite that sometimes paralyzing pain of regret, my soul feels stronger for the storms I've endured.

The mountain side is covered with Aspen, cottonwood and sugar maple, all sprinkled with an autumn paintbrush, a cold reminder of the winter ahead. I inhale the sweet taste of fall in the air, trying my best to savor the warm day as if I might find a way
to convince the sun to linger a little longer this year. It never seems to get much easier to welcome in another bleak December when the earth feels naked and raw as color fades to shades of grey and night intrudes in the early afternoon. But before I allow my negativity to take root, I'm reminded of the comfort of being held in Devon's reassuring arms next to the fire as the wind blows violently against the dark sky. There is satisfaction in the excuses winter brings to indulge in a lazy day of playing cards and falling into the embrace of someone you truly cherish. Winter gives me that, plus a few days of sledding the big hills while screaming wildly like I'm 12 again, or carving down a glistening slope
of fresh powder on a snowboard where I might as well be 12 again because of my lack of skill. But the point is I can still find joy in a season I don't look forward to and my hope is to build on those small pleasures with gratitude until the drag of January blends in with the rest of the year and becomes as accepted and sweet as summer. Boy, that'll be the day.

I've been so caught up in thought that I suddenly realize I've reached my special sitting rock that sits about three fourths of the way up the mountain. It's strange that something as lifeless as a rock can have eminent value, made up of all the times I sat here and looked over the valley and talked to God and made decisions about what I'd do when I made my descent back into that all too confusing world down there. What is it about being above the smog of the city and surrounded by the framework of creation that clears your head out enough to discern where to draw your focus and the seemingly worthwhile selfish persutes that instantly become unimportant and irrelevant? Is it because I'm closer to God up here by the sky line so I can hear Him better or has He been whispering to me all along and I just couldn't hear Him until I silenced the commotion of my life? Either way, His grace overwhelms my enlightened heart every time I come here.

Today, instead of asking for answers to the complexities of mortality, I can do nothing but thank Him for all the undeserving good He's given me. Like the dying of summer green around me that I know will undoubtedly blossom again in the spring, the diminishing light in my soul has been made whole again through God's healing hands.

Because of all the miracles I have witnessed throughout my 25 years, I can feel my faith
slowly becoming as simple as it was when I was a kid and believed with no hesitation that if God wanted He could turn my lemonade into chocolate milk or send angels to watch over me when I was scared at night. Now He's sent me two more angels to journey by my side through this earthly existence into the eternities. I wonder what happens in the gradual transition from childhood to adulthood that extinguishes that innocent trust in God to perform miracles?

As I sit here on my familiar rock, I sit twenty pounds heavier than last time I was here, but for good reason; that second angel is still growing inside of me, waiting for his turn to meet this crazy world of ours. My hope is that my faith will be strong enough for God to once again demonstrate His power to heal our son. And just witnessing the wonder of God's masterpiece of nature all around me, I know as sure as He was the soul creator of this majestic mountain, He is also the creator of every child. He is the only remedy to cure body and spirit because He is the only one perfect enough to do it.

Happy with the peace I've felt here in one of my favorite places on earth, I turn toward the summit and speculate if the time I've got left is enough to make it. I smile to myself because I know despite reasons to turn back now, when I've come this far there's not much that would stop me from reaching the top. It reminds me of all the times I plan to go for a “short walk” and end up hiking miles up a mystery canyon, exploring the newly discovered outdoor paradise, caught up in my amazement and passion for the foreign beauty so unfamiliar to the congestion of the city.

I've slowed my pace now, not because of lack of energy, but just because I want to breathe in my surroundings as I make this last stretch to the peak. Wild flowers pepper the hill side to the south and a gust of wind picks up and blows their delicate pedals as if it's trying to prove it's power and dominance over them. I think of all the brutle thunder storms and violent blows they endure and survive with strong elegance and I find myself envying their perseverance. There have been times I have shattered beneath the storms of life and a hundred times I've set out to reach honorable goals, only to drag my feet back in defeat, face down and trying my best to ignore the pain of disappointment. But with my flaws I also recognize the quiet confidence and immovable courage I've found in the face of each challenge, not because the challenge made me great, but because God saw the greatness in me if I learned how to fall and rise to stand and try again. I don't think life teaches us just how good we are when we conquer opposition and master our trails. I think it teaches us how good we are in spite of our problems; not to excuse ourselves but to see our value and power even in the midst of imperfection and weakness.

The sun has now retired to the west and within an hour the night sky will come to replace the evening glow. I make the last strides up the steep ridge where the shell of the last hill meets the blue void above where a jet flies overhead to remind me I'm not too far from civilization.

I stand on a boulder that marks the highest point of the peak and I close my eyes and extend my arms out like an eagle ready for take off, just inhaling the moment and exhaling all that has ever troubled my mind. I smile toward the breeze that blows my long
blonde hair into my face. The smell of the shower I took this morning has dissipated into a musty scent of dirt and sweat and that makes me smile even more. This is where I belong; not in some upscale salon getting my nails filed and painted and my hair done up
like a barbie doll where the women talk about the latest neighborhood rumors and Hollywood gossip like 40 year old high school girls. It's strange but I feel most beautiful in the mountains. I like who I am up here where there's no society to conform to, just the stillness and acceptance of nature. Even when the thunder roars and the winds carry a relentless storm overhead, there is still a sense of grace, a sense of quiet power.

With only a few minutes to embrace my time at the top, I look down on the valley that is just beginning to light up as the sun sets in the distance. I think of all those hundreds of people below... stranger's faces that walk the city with somewhere important
to be or with no direction at all, where only the streets know their well kept secrets.

Where do they call home? Do they have moms and dads who still live together and love each other? Will they go home to alcohol on their dad's breath,