Recently, I have loved taking long walks with my daughter.  I can’t think of any way I could better have enjoyed so many of the beautiful days we’ve had this spring. 

I usually walk alone, and when I do, I normally stick to a familiar route that feels safe and secure to me. 

When I have her company, though, (invoking the promise of safety in numbers) we often venture out on slightly different paths, including places I don’t often go alone. 

One day last week, that included the adventure and added challenge of climbing some hills. 

Hustling along that day, chatting conversationally like we usually do, we came to the place where we could either go straight and stay on a flat road, or hang a left and start up a steep hill.

We made the last-minute decision to hang a left and tackle the hill.

I suppose, to tell the whole truth, I should say that I made the last-minute decision that we would tackle the hill. I guess I kind of informed her by going ahead and actually hanging the left.  She for sure did not hesitate to point out that I hadn’t exactly asked her first, but by then we were on our way!

Honestly, it hadn’t even occurred to me to ask first, because I knew for sure that she - that WE - could do it. 

Since I had gone first and walked a few steps ahead of her, I responded to her slight doubt (or maybe it was more annoyance than doubt) by assuring her, “Talking can end right here for now.  We’ll just breathe.  We’ll talk again when we get to the top.” 

Then, for one last dose of encouragement while I could still speak and breathe at the same time, I explained the “trick” I’ve learned to use when climbing hills:

“Never look at the top.  When you look at the top, it feels like there is no way you can get there.  Just look straight in front of you, and pick a point.  Focus on just getting to that point.  When you reach it, pick another point, and focus on getting to that one.  One at a time.  Then, before you know it, you’re at the top!”

With that, we ascended in silence - except for the sounds of our breathing and of our feet striking the gritty pavement. 

I don’t know what she thought about on the way up, but I do clearly remember what I thought about:  Those words I had just heard myself so effortlessly speak, and what a metaphor for life I recognized in them. 

I thought about how much they represent the way I have come to approach so many of life’s challenges and uncertainties.  Even ones far greater and of more consequence than taking a walk up a steep hill. 

Over the past weeks and months, we have faced many such challenges and uncertainties.  We still do.  Everyone has and does. 

I don’t like hard or scary times any more than anyone else does. I always want them to go ahead and just move on along, right out of my life.

However, by living in some of those times, I have come to understand some things about them: 

First, and most importantly to me, I know that challenges and difficulties are opportunities to grow in faith.  Only through experiencing things that I am powerless to control do I truly remember that I, alone, am always powerless.  I can do nothing on my own, but anything is possible when I trust God. 

Secondly, living through hard things qualifies me and builds in me the authority to someday help and encourage others through their own hard things.  I think we are ALL called to help others whenever we can, and I take that very seriously.  When I look at my own trials as opportunities to become better equipped to do that, I can see in them purpose that I might otherwise never see.

Finally, I realize how far I have come from the “me” of not-so-long-ago.  I remember all too well how, at one time, any one of the challenges, uncertainties, or worries we have faced recently would have kept me awake at night.  Worse, I also remember too many times when I allowed worry about the future; about things beyond my control; to ruin perfectly good moments and days that I did, for sure, have - right in front of me. 

I am grateful to have grown and lived enough to know that the one and only way to get to the top of any mountain I face (real or metaphorical), is to fix my eyes straight ahead - gaze only at what lies directly before me - and take one step at a time.   

My daughter and I made it, one step at a time, to the top of the hill we climbed that day.  It felt good when we did.  Everything that came after it felt so much lighter and easier in comparison. 

I guess that’s always the thing about reaching the top of any mountain we happen to find in our paths:  That feeling really matters.  It is the moment when we realize that - just one step at a time - we really did always have enough strength, and that we built even more through the climb.