The Climb

Last summer, my husband, Jeremy and I visited Victoria, British Columbia. We spent the last day of our amazing 10-day trip hiking in a National Park! By far this “hike” (really a mountain climb) was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done in my life, but by the same token extremely rewarding.

Oddly enough, the beginning seemed to be a nearly impossible task. Shortness of breath took over me. My legs weak and burning and with every step taken I longed to stop and rest. My head started to pound while tension and sweat ran down the back of my neck and spread across my shoulders. My husband seeing the agony I was in obliged me with frequent breaks and nicely asked “do you want to go back? It’s okay if you do; we still have a long way to go…” Nevertheless, I continued on – my pride feeling even weaker than my body at the thought of turning around. I MUST continue – a constant internal pep talk I gave myself.

An amazing thing happened on this seemingly insignificant hike. As I neared the top of the mountain, the climb though seemingly more rough terrain, became easier for me. I was now using every muscle in my legs, my hands, as well as every ounce of balance imaginable. The terrain became severely rocky, jagged and unpredictable. At times it felt as though I held onto the rocks for dear life. A fall or veering off course would result in falling off the side of the mountain – certainly this would bring great injury, maybe even death. I couldn’t believe that just anyone was allowed to hike on this mountain. At this point, it was clear that only a trained professional should attempt this climb.

I began to ponder the contradiction I was experiencing. With the amount of focus required combined with the very physical nature of this portion of the climb, why did this part of the journey “feel” easier although it was clearly more intense than ever (especially when my body was already weary from the first half of the climb)? Simply enough, my perspective changed. I came to a point where I could see the tops of the trees. I was actually eye level with them – hundreds of feet in the air. I could feel the strong gusts of refreshing air, which was not possible at the beginning of the climb as I was sheltered by the expansive trees and branches. Most importantly, I actually now had a visual of “the top”. As I continued to climb, my eye- level perspective (which was rare and amazing) was exchanged for the Penthouse Mountain View. The more I climbed, the smaller the trees looked. They were so grand and all encompassing before, but now they looked so small in comparison to my new found height.

It is often said that the beginning is easier than the end. You have the energy, drive and ambition to tackle the road ahead when you are young and ambitious. The Bible even talks about finishing strong.    II Timothy 4:7 says, “I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith.” Paul wouldn’t have written this to Timothy if the concept of “completion” wasn’t important. He wrote this to encourage his young brother to endure and finish strongly in this life, as Paul himself had.  It can be rather daunting to continually climb what feels to be a never ending mountain – especially when the finish line is not in sight.

The Bible tells us that we are to walk by faith rather than by sight. Simply put, faith is climbing our own mountain – trusting that indeed there is a “top” and the view will be well worth the journey. The top is too high and grand to be visible from the bottom – trees and brush grow and block any view that is longed for. It’s amazing how on our own journey God brings us to a place (on the same climb) that changes our perspective and although the journey remains difficult He graces us with the strength to endure – a new and fresh perspective.

Once I reached the top my body no longer reminded me of the pain it was in. My mind stood in awe at the creation seen from the view and that I actually completed the climb. It didn’t matter to me that kids, much older adults and pets were all faster than I and passing me up – all that mattered was that I made it. Not only did I accomplish the climb, but I reaped the rewards of the view – something I could have never seen from the ground.

I find peace realizing that although I may wake up today and face the same mountain, I have the strength to endure the journey and upward climb because not only is His grace sufficient, but He has graced me with a new perspective.



Taylor Quintini is a graduate of Christ for All Nations Institute and holds a B.A. in Communications from Dallas Baptist University. Taylor and her husband Jeremy reside in Orlando, Florida. Although living in the sunshine state, she still works in her native town of New Orleans, Louisiana and travels their once a month for wedding and event planning. Taylor loves spending time with family and friends, traveling, event planning and writing.