A Mountaintop Experience: Finding a different perspective

We have all surely heard the phrase “mountaintop experience,” which usually means an exciting life experience that may or may not have been actually on top of a mountain. Well, I have had four literal mountaintop experiences. No, I have not attempted Mt. Everest or Denali, but these four places met my requirements of a mountain. Some, at least, had the word “mountain” in their names.

The first was Mt. Baldy. It is a huge mountainous sand dune on the edge of Lake Michigan between Indiana and Illinois. We took a trip with our youngest son and his friend to Canada, and Mt. Baldy was along our route. My husband and I started up the mountain — remember, it was a sand dune. As we sank to our knees with each step forward, it was not turning out to be much fun. We persevered and slowly climbed up that mountain, even finishing on all fours to reach the top. Once up there, the view was worth the trip, which was what the travel brochure had promised.

It was a beautiful view of Lake Michigan with a white sandy beach and lone tree, where we sought shade and recovery time. Our son thought our jubilation over accomplishing the climb was overrated; I asked if he saw any other 50-year-old women up there. Our trip back down was not as strenuous, since we had our weight and gravity helping us.

The next may not have been a true mountain, but Dunn’s River Falls in Jamaica is a straight-up climb that met my definition of a mountainous climb. Our daughter and I were determined to make this trek up a 90-degree waterfall. The jagged rocks along the edge became our stairway to the top. We were dressed in water clothes, but our guide was in street clothes and carried our cameras around his neck, documenting our assent. While we struggled upward using the I’ll-pull-you-and-you-pull-me approach, we were determined to reach the top for that beautiful view. Along our assent, we met a few who had aborted their dream of reaching the top, as they headed down to the safety of the ground. We made it to the top, and the view was spectacular. Our transportation was there, too, so we did not have to climb back down.

The next mountain was Pinnacle Mountain outside of Little Rock, Ark. We were on a weekend trip with our daughter and son-in-law when they announced they had found a mountain for us to climb. This was not a sand dune or waterfall, but a rocky, uphill, heavily-vegetated climb. My daughter, son-in-law and I, not very well-equipped for the climb, headed up the hill.

The view from the top was wonderful — we could see for miles around. The very top of mountains can become crowded, since they are, after all, pinnacles. It offered a view of the vastness of God’s creation. We felt very small in comparison to our surroundings. The climb down the mountain was tricky, and gravity was there urging us to descend quickly; there were no handrails! Once again, we depended upon each other for our safe descent, supporting each other all the way down.

My next and probably last mountain was Mt. Masada in Israel. After I researched Masada, I was interested in making the pilgrimage up that mountain. After we arrived there, I opted for the tram ride up the mountain, but I was committed to the walk down. It started pretty well.

There were concrete steps and handrails for approximately the first quarter of the trail. Three from our tour group started down together, and I did not see the other two after only a few minutes. After the handrails and steps stopped, it was a snakelike trail downward. The path was covered with small, sharp rocks over sand, which slipped around. About halfway down, I began to slide and ended up down on the ground. A woman helped me up and offered me her walking stick, which I declined, thinking the worst was behind me.

Well, it wasn’t. There were those annoying climbers running up the mountain on one side of me and the others running down the other side. I slowly made my way further down, then it happened again, and I started sliding forward. A kind young man, David, helped me up from all fours and offered me his arm for the rest of the descent.

It had already been obvious to me there were no EMTs or air vac squads anywhere nearby, so I was on my own. I told him I did not want to admit to needing help, but it was becoming pretty obvious I did. David, who was Jewish, helped secure me in an upright position and was good company. We talked about the historical significance of Mt. Masada and his beautiful country. We shared some of our thoughts on the great God who put his people there in the wilderness and how he protected them. I told him it was my sixty-fourth birthday and would always be one for me to remember.

I made it down the mountain and found my mother waiting at the foot. She said the other descenders were about an hour ahead of me. I was able to dress my wounds with steri-strips; I really could have used a couple stitches for the cut on my right knee. The scar, though, has become another souvenir of my mountain climbing experience in Israel.

Standing on top of a mountain helps to gain perspective on just how small we are in comparison to the world and just how much God loves us in spite of our smallness in the universe. The view from the top is always breathtaking. While standing on top of any mountain, you will be physically closer to heaven than on the ground, but thanks to the gift of the Holy Spirit, we can always be close to God.