A lot of people use the roller coaster as an analogy for life. I say it’s more like an intense hiking trip.
We have this trail here in Albuquerque called the La Luz trail. It’s something like seven miles long, each way.
When I was younger, a bunch of teenage boys and girls from youth group all in shorts, tees, and ball caps, some in sneakers and others in boots decided to brave the ninety-plus degree summer heat and tackle it. We started out together, laughing and joking around, and gradua
lly, a few of the boys and I think one of the more brazen girls took the lead, determined to get to the top. A huge group of us took the middle, and eventually a few fell behind and mostly complained about the heat.
And it was hot. By the end of the day, most of us turned back, but I’ll never forget the faces of my friends who’d braved the entire hike up and then arrived late to our youth night that evening, still red-faced and sweaty, but with the pride of having also hiked it back down. I still remember feeling the regret that perhaps I’d given up too easily and the envy that I couldn’t claim to have conquered the trail with these guys. (That’s me in the center with the white tee and hat and about half the group.)
This trail starts out in a wide expanse of nature’s attempts at greenery, namely brown grasses and scattered cacti. It feels like an easy, unshaded, long walk through the desert and just when you’re pretty sure you’re going to die of heatstroke, you come upon a change in the scenery. Huge rocks line the trail in places, and the plant life looks a little thicker. If you can stick it out, then you’ll mercifully find that the higher and steeper the incline becomes, the closer you are to the treeline. Depending on the time of year, you might even still find remnants of snow the higher you go. Now, the trail has anywhere from a 9% to 40% incline, so it’s never boring. Like most of New Mexico, the surroundings change drastically with every new twist and turn you take. One minute it’s hot, dry, and rather ugly, and the next, it’s stunningly beautiful.
Now, if you’re one of the die-hards wh
o can make it to the top (which I’m sad to say, I never did), you’ll be rewarded with an incredible view of the city. Absolutely incredible. I’ve driven to the top of the crest more times than I can count, so I know where the trail dumps out. It’s a brief walk across the top of my favorite mountain to the Sandia Peak Tramway, the longest aerial tramway in the United States, third longest in the world. A lot of people hike up the trail and take the tram back down, or vice versa. Some have friends pick up them up. The bravest make the fifteen-ish-mile round trip and know the explosive pride of victory. I found a great blog piece that really describes it well.
Okay, so back to the top. I have a ridiculous penchant for viewing everything through analogies. In everything, I see a comparison to something else.
For real life, I see a hike up the La Luz. There are seasons of barren, desolate wasteland like the bottom of the trail. Multiple choices laid out, different paths to choose that lead to the top. There are rocky seasons ahead, when you have to decide whether to stick to the trail or give those bould
ers a good climb to see what’s on the other side. There are times when you’re ready to give up and turn back because it’s just too hard, too exhausting, too daunting to continue. All the moments when you’re surrounded by friends, and then eventually the pack is sorted out and you’re left in front, in the middle, or straggling behind. Sometimes alone.
For those who keep moving forward, the seasons of shade and growth come. Restorative seasons, with places to rest and enjoy the surroundings. Times of wonder and admiration. Moments where the trees are so thick you’re in darkness, but then the sunlight breaks through again. Climbing, climbing, all the while. Sometimes up, sometimes down, changing direction as needed but trying to stay on course even with plenty of opportunities to veer elsewhere. And then finally, the crest. Victory. The seasons of knowing you’ve made it, relishing in the sweetness of accomplishment and success.
All to turn and find it’s time to make the journey back down all over again. Maybe a nice, smooth ride like the tram. Maybe with friends who’ve picked you up. Or maybe on your feet, making those ups and downs and switchbacks through more seasons of beauty and barren desolation amid rocks and thorns and pockets of beauty.
Such is life, but it’s beautiful. My hope for you today is that you’ll enjoy the climb.
Crap, now I’m going to have Miley Cyrus singing that in my head all day. Ha! And now so will you. Like her or not, that song is lyrical genius. It’s not about how fast you get there. It’s not about what’s waiting on the other side. It’s the climb.
What are you climbing for? Who are you climbing with? As for me, I just want to get to the top and back down again with that red face, sweaty and exhausted, but knowing I did it. I made it. I have no regrets and I’d do it all again and again just to feel the gut rush and satisfaction.
Maybe this summer I’ll take my family and make that literal climb. But regardless, I’ll be enjoying life’s climb. The ups and downs, even the barren places and switchbacks–because I know that the shelter and shade of the One who made me is there, and He’s got a beautiful view and victory waiting.
