Want to convince an atheist that God exists? Have them hike the Alexander Basin.
It’s no small miracle that I made it to the top. In case you don’t know, when it comes to physical things I can be a little bit of a baby. I’m no Pillsbury dough girl, but taking a hike with me is about the equivalent of playing a baseball game with Ernie Lombardi. Slow.
Two miles into the hike, the trail disappeared under a thick layer of snow. Beyond the snow was a giant hill…and more snow. Okay, okay. To use the word hill would be underestimating the monstrosity before us. It was a small mountain. If I can be completely honest, my first thought was this:
“That’s a nice sight. Glad I don’t have to climb it.”
|Feel free to use your imagination to envision us on this mountain.|
If we had gone by my limited vision, I would have missed one of the most breathtaking moments of my life.
When I stand on my knees, bruised, broken and disheveled, Heavenly Father sends those stronger than me to drag me up mountains. More often than not it’s kicking and screaming (I'm working on it), but somehow I always make it. Someday when I lie at the feet of my Heavenly Father I’ll have a little dirt under my fingernails. I’ll be scratched, scarred and sweaty. Yet, I live for the moment when I finally reach that peak, when he can say, “Well done, my child,” and take me into his arms.
I am blessed.
(oh, and Rhett only lost his phone one time during our five hour escapade. Success.)