Mountains, Rocks, Old Age and Bearing Fruit....

Every Wednesday, we read from The Psalms. It's always full of wonderful thoughts from David, the poet and king. This week was no different and it pulled me back into some good/hard memories. The verses: Psalm 92:14, 15a

They will still bear fruit in old age, they will stay fresh and green, proclaiming "The LORD is upright; he is my Rock"...

Quite honestly, I don't like growing old. I don't like saying I'm a "senior". Even the catchy phrase, "seasoned citizen" doesn't take much of the sting out of it. 

These verses caught my attention, though, and gave me hope. I want to bear fruit in my old age. One cannot bear fruit in their old age until they're there! 

Frequently we find in Scripture God being compared to a rock and that's where the memories come in. I've climbed more than a dozen mountains, but one stands out and I'll share a story about that peak. 

October 19, 2013. I sighed as I looked at the robin’s-egg-blue sky. I was tired. The wind ruffled my hair and I glanced down at my dust-covered legs and turned around to find my climbing partner, Jim. This was my eleventh climb up this mountain—and I thought it might be my last one, too. We had a lot of history, this famous mountain and I, Mt. St. Helens. Before 1980, the ice-cream-cone- shaped mountain was 9,677 feet. The volcanic peak erupted and was reduced by more than 1,300 feet.

I thought back to my first time up. It was hot that August day in 1988. I was excited to climb any mountain, and especially this one. My husband Bill was there. So was my 15 year old daughter, Erika. It was a long, hot, dusty trudge up the sandy, rock-covered mountain. Most of the snow was gone—at least on the trail. There were dirty piles of drifts farther away. It took about eight hours to summit. The last part of the climb was a loose sandy slope. You would take one step and slide down several feet. Then you’d try again and gain a few more feet. But the view at the top was worth the climb. The crater is much, much larger than it looks from the fifty-some miles away at my Vancouver home. An airplane droned in the distance as we gazed at the huge hole. In the center of the crater it looked like a tiny toy airplane. So small in that huge place. We rested on the windy summit, putting our jackets on. Hungrily eating our lunches of cheese and bagels while snapping photos of each other. I saved my Snickers bar for the way down, rewarding myself. The climb down was even harder than going up. My quads were tired and wobbly, my feet uncertain. But I continued the descent, glad we were on our way back home. We got pizza to treat ourselves on the two hour drive home.

This time was different. I was 25 years older, but the mountain had evolved too. Its sandy slope merged among large chunks of massive rocks. In the parking lot our leader said, “See you at the top!” And he turned and went on his way. No words of caution or instruction. We looked at each other and I thought this is really different than with Bill. I comforted myself with the fact I was an experienced climber and was in good physical shape. I could do this!

On that first climb in 1988, Bill had been the capable leader. He gave a speech before the climb began. All of the climbers were anxious to get moving, but they circled around him and listened, shuffling in their climbing clothes, clutching a walking stick, adjusting their backpacks. You knew you could feel safe with Bill. He knew the climb and would try to keep everyone safe. He would finish with this admonition: “No one goes in front of me or behind Bob, my assistant leader. Stay in the group and we’ll have a good time.” During any hike or mountain climb, Bill would frequently check everyone. “Do you have any hot spots on your feet? Did you get a good drink of water?” During the climb, Bill gave us a rest every hour for ten minutes. Those breaks were important to keep up the stamina. At those rest stops, we looked at the views of far-away Portland and other mountain peaks:  Mt. Hood, Mt. Rainier, and Mt Adams. “OK, guys, time to get going!” Bill said after ten minutes. We’d reluctantly pull on our packs, adjust them on our backs, and slowly continue the ascent.

Bill and Erika on that first ascent - Jay Mosser, Erika's youth leader also in the photo

Setting moon on the Ptarmigan Trail up to Monitor Ridge

But this was now. 2013. We trudged ahead through the nearly dark forest trail up to Monitor Ridge, the route we took up the climb. It gradually became steeper and soon we needed to shed some clothes even though it was a cool October morning. As we began to clear the trees, we gasped at the setting shimmering full moon. This is why I do this! I thought. We stopped at the last “real” restroom, a smelly, composting toilet in the woods. As we entered the timberline, I glanced up at the formidable pile of rocks. Large posts placed in strategic places marked the route. It looked different to me. There were more large refrigerator-sized rocks to climb over. The sand over the years had blown away and now it was more of a rock climb.Take one step. Then another. It was hard. Harder than the last time. I sighed again and looked back at Jim. “How are you doing, honey?”

“I’m doing fine. How much farther to the top?”

“Oh, quite a bit further.” I didn’t want to discourage him. I’d told him about false summits that trick you into thinking you’re nearly there when you aren’t. We continued at a good pace. The huge rocks were challenging and the hourly breaks felt good. I munched on some trail mix and drank some Gatorade and said to Jim. “Mark, our climbing leader, is different than Bill. I hope we’re going the right way.” I glanced around and didn’t see anyone nearby. We stood, put on our packs and began climbing again. As we mantled—putting our arms on the rock above, drawing our legs and bodies up to the next set of rocks— I saw some climbers much farther to my right. Yikes! We were in the wrong spot! I was afraid we might get into a precarious place and told Jim we needed to head that way. Finally, we were near some other people and I felt better. We kept slogging along the rocks and some sand. I just wanted to quit, but I knew we needed to get to the top. If for no one but Jim. As I sighed and moved slowly upward, I heard Jim saying something out loud.

“You have searched me, LORD, and you know me.You know when I sit and when I rise; you perceive my thoughts from afar….”

“It helps me when I quote the Psalms when I’m having a hard run. I figure it will work for this, too.”

“Thank you,” I gasped. “It does.” 

“Oh look.” Jim said. “I see Andrew and Caleb over there.” My two grandsons, aged 14 and 12 nearly jogged up the rocks. “There’s Erika, too. Wow, your daughter’s in good shape. Look at her go!”

“Hurrah! You made it!” Andrew and Caleb shouted to us as we slowly made our way up the last slope to the summit. We gave high-fives to each other, took our packs off and sat down to eat our lunch. Ah, at last. We made it. The view on top was worth it. So huge. A screaming silence. You could hear the voices of the climbers, but they sounded muted. Like the awesome greatness pulled the sound out of them. 

Our trip down wasn’t any easier. We were tired and the rocks seemed even bigger. At one point, Jim was on a narrow ridge and turned back for a moment. He forgot about his backpack that added extra width to his body and it hit the wall next to him. He lost his balance and fell about six feet off the narrow path onto a large rock below. He sat for a few moments before answering my worried question, “are you all right?” He was quiet for a moment, because he really didn’t know for certain. He seemed to be all right, but we took it a little slower to avoid another fall. Finally, we made it to the tree line where it was a level pathway and as the sun was going down, the warm afternoon turned into a cool, fall evening. 

“You did it, honey!” I told Jim.

“Thank-you for letting me come along.” He said. “I’m glad we made it, but I don’t care if we never climb St. Helens again!”

Summit of St. Helens. L - R: Andrew, Jim, Shirley, Erika, Caleb

“I think I’m done with it too. Eleven times is enough!”

No matter where you are. A seasoned citizen or somewhat younger, you have this promise when you put your trust in our Savior. They will still bear fruit in old age as well as the best part of the passage, The LORD is upright; he is my Rock....

Without the Rock, the rest wouldn't matter. So, I will continue on--seasoned citizen that I am, because I know I can depend on the Rock.The Rock is trustworthy and good. 

Ascent up Mt Hood some years ago