Saturday Morning, 5 am.

Antonio’s voice wakes me, “Chad! You ready, man?”

I roll around for a minute before beginning to layer on some clothes. It’s really cold out this morning, and we are about to climb Mt. Yale.

Mt. Yale is what is known in the hiking world as a 14er, meaning that its peak is at over 14,000 ft above sea level, and hikers collect them like baseball cards.  I, however, am not a hiker, nor am I acclimated to do anything above 8,000 feet; still, this hike I was determined to complete.

We filled our water bottles and camelbaks, ate our granola bars, and packed in the van for the short ride to the trail head.  It was brisk, and I was nodding in and out of sleep the whole way. (not a good sign) We filed out in silence, most of us still only half conscious, and made our way across a small bridge to the head of the trail where we met a young couple and their dog, who were also about to climb Yale.  Antonio made some small talk with them as we checked the trail map, and then we began our ascent!

Not too long into the hike, we stopped for a quick water break, and some of us removed jackets and outer layers as we began to get warm.  I then started to realize this was not going to be easy. My breathing was labored, and my muscles and joints were stiff, and we had been maybe a quarter of a mile.

We climbed and climbed, and it was an absolute feast for my eyes! Every turn was so breathtaking, and I could only imagine what the view from the top would be, despite the fact that I need to stop to catch my breath frequently.

Then, a couple of hours in, we were about to surpass the tree line at about 11,500 ft when my body told me I had to eat something.  I have never heard my body more clearly than in that moment when I just had to have some fuel, so I stopped and leaned against a rock alongside the trail and ravenously consumed a cliff bar and some trail mix.  I relaxed for a few good minutes, and I felt like a new man! I was ready to summit this monster!

I hit the trail hard, and we passed the tree line! We were surrounded by alpine flowers, boulders, marmots, and pika, not to mention the most beautiful views I have ever personally witnessed. Everything was so huge, and majestic; the sun warming the greens and yellows and purples, and beaming off the stones. Still, I had about 2,000 ft of elevation to climb, and the elevation was beginning to truly get to my head. But I climbed on.

I had to stop more frequently at this point, but I didn’t let myself even think about giving up.  It got more and more difficult to breathe, and every step made my legs weaker.  As I reached 13,000 ft, my muscles cramped, my chest burned when I coughed, and I was exhausted. I put my pack down, and faced the fact that I may not make it.  I may not be able to make it to the top of this mountain.  The elevation may be just too much, and I may not be in the shape it takes to do this.  I found myself weeping, and it was beyond my control. I didn’t even know it was happening; my body was so exhausted, and my brain wasn’t getting the oxygen it needed.

I was blessed when Brad, Johanna’s Ultra-marathoner  boyfriend, again offered to carry my bag. This time I allowed him to help me.  The weight that was removed felt like 100 pounds, and I decided to press on without my bag. I was going to do this! I was going to climb this mountain! I was not going to fail.

Unfortunately, the strength of my will, and the joy of conquering an obstacle were not the lessons I was to learn. I was going to learn how to try my hardest, and to fail. How to put my best on the line, and have it not be enough.  To try something noble, with the best of intentions, and to fall short.

After reaching somewhere around 13,400 feet of elevation, the highest I’ve ever been, I couldn’t climb anymore. I was spent. And on the long trek back down the mountain I began to think of all the things in my life I’m called to, and how often I fail.

As a follower of Christ, I am called to great things. I’m called to love my neighbor. I’m called to be generous with myself, and my resources. I’m called to be Christ to people who need him. I’m called to live a life of sacrificial service and love, at all times.  I’m called to help people see how beautiful and loved they are. And I am going to fail. I do fail. frequently.

Yet, as Mother Teresa so beautifully and wisely said, “We are not called to be successful, but to be faithful”

There is something beautiful about giving everything you have, knowing fully that you will not succeed.

I would ask that those of you who read this pray for my heart, that it would be prepared for the failures and lessons that God has for me this year, and that my worth would be in Christ, and not in myself, because I am weak but he is strong.

-grace and peace : )