The Design of Our God (Or Things I Learned From Climbing a Mountain)

I didn’t plan on climbing a mountain today, but I did. And I’m glad I did, I just didn’t plan on it. I planned on taking a walk, to clear my thoughts and get some perspective. Life’s like that though: sometimes we just stumble upon it when we’re not paying attention. And it seems, on this particular day, my stumbling took me to the top of a mountain. Apparently life decided perspective would be best gained looking over Utah Valley from the top of Y Mountain. As is so often the case, life was right.

It’s funny how it happened. I decided to hike to the top of the Y, which I did, and on my way back down I saw a trail off to the southeast. It looked like a nice trail and seemed significantly less crowded, so I decided to follow it. And then I followed it. And then I followed it some more. Upward and onward and ever forward. I ran into a couple and asked them where the trail led and they told me it went to the summit. By that point I was sure I was close, so I decided to keep going. And then I kept going. And then I kept going some more. I really had no idea where I was going or how long it was going to take me, but I just kept assuming it was just little further (even though it was always a lot further) and that I had come too far to turn back. And so I stumbled my way to the top of the mountain.

Unplanned excursions into the mountains give one a lot of time to think. So I thought as I traveled upward and onward and ever forward. And I came to the conclusion that, for the most part, we are rather fearful creatures. Consider what may have happened had I known exactly how long and how far I was going to have to hike in order to reach the summit. With that knowledge I could have made any number of excuses for why I couldn’t do it: time, bad socks, not enough water, not enough sunscreen. And while true, one sees in retrospect that none of them were actually valid, because in the end I did climb to the summit with bad socks, only one application of sunscreen, and limited water.

Far too often we sell ourselves short of wonderful experiences for silly reasons, so many of them stemming from fear of failure, fear of discomfort, fear of hard work. We fear our own potential. We don’t understand our own potential. But God does. He knows exactly what we are capable of, but He knows that if we were to see it, it would frighten us. And so He leads us along, little by little. Often we want to understand what is happening or why things are happening or what things are going to happen next. We imagine that knowing these things is somehow more reassuring than the quiet voice that whispers, “Be still, and know that I am God.” Metaphorically speaking, we plead to know how much further it is, what the elevation gain is going to be, and whether the trail is going to be rough, and the Lord, in His infinite wisdom, doesn’t tell us. He knows that knowing too much about the path ahead and the difficulties we will face could frighten us away from following it, because we do not recognize the power and potential within ourselves to succeed. So instead He asks us to follow by faith in Him and not in ourselves, and little by little – line upon line and precept upon precept – we are led to the top of the mountain.

Still, there are some who turn back. Perhaps it is the discomfort of the present that drowns out a hope for the future. Perhaps they know the view will be glorious from the top of the mountain, and even though they don’t know how much further they must climb (it could be just around the corner!) they turn back because it’s too hard in that moment. I cringe to think of the glorious views I’ve missed simply because it seemed too hard in the moment. "Voi non potete vedere con i vostri occhi naturali, in questo momento, i designi del vostro Dio..." But in facing the mountains in our lives we gain a glorious view of ourselves and of our future. I reflected upon that as I sat at the summit. Just below me I could see the Provo Temple, shining white in the afternoon sun. I thought that was a particularly fitting representation of the glorious perspective we gain from climbing our mountains: a view of eternal life.

The Lord leads us along the pathway to eternal life. We may not know how long it will take or all of the hills and valleys we will have to face, but we know that view at the end will be worth it. We can trust in the voice that whispers, "Be still," and in our darkest hours comforts us with, "Peace be unto thy soul; thine adversity and thine afflictions shall be but a small moment." He will not abandon us, He will not leave us comfortless, He will not let us down. Of all of the concerns I may have had about making this hike, the only one that could have been truly dangerous was not having enough water. When I had drunk the last of mine and still hadn’t reached the summit, I came across a couple coming back down. They warned me that the last mile was steep and gave me a bottle of ice water. In similar fashion, the Lord warns us, through scriptures and prophets, of difficulties ahead, and provides us with whatever resources we may need to get us safely to the summit. He truly is the life, the light, and the living water.

So you can see, there is much to be learned from stumbling up a mountain. I am so very glad that I did.

"Ye cannot behold with your natural eyes, for the present time, the design of your God concerning those things which shall come hereafter, and the glory which shall follow after much tribulation. For after much tribulation come the blessings. Wherefore the day cometh that ye shall be crowned with much glory; the hour is not yet, but is nigh at hand." -- DC 58:3-4