Angie came as part of her grieving process over her husband’s recent, premature death.  She hoped to find some consolation in seeing what he had been doing at Discovery Ministries all those years, to connect to him in the silent absence and experience him again by walking where he had walked.  By the end of her stay, Angie found more than solace—she found revival. 

The first evening around the dinner table at the lodge, Angie indicated just how different her interests were from her late husband’s.  She declared in no uncertain terms that she would not be going rappelling!  She wasn’t even sure if she was willing to do anything outside her comfort zone.  Adventurous quests had been her husband Ron’s sort of thing.  
​
It was true.  Ron had been coming to DM for years with the church youth group as an adult sponsor.  He first came out of curiosity, but he kept coming out of conviction that what he was seeing and experiencing was truly life changing.  It was on his first canoeing trip with Discovery Ministries some 20 years earlier that he had made the decision to follow Jesus, being baptized under the Current River’s cool, flowing water.  Angie, on the other hand, had never come.  Now she faced a dilemma.  Would she follow her husband’s path by going adventuring with the students she chaperoned or play it safe and reserve her right to distance herself from the challenges?  Slated to go spelunking, hiking, swimming at the local falls, bluff jumping, rock climbing, canoeing, and, yes, rappelling, too, could she go through with it?  

Angie was experiencing the positive peer pressure of those who’ve gone before us.  Like Hebrews 12:1 describes: “Therefore, since we are surrounded by so great a cloud of witnesses, let us also lay aside every weight, and sin which clings so closely, and let us run with endurance the race that is set before us…”  The context in this passage of the cloud of witnesses depicts folks who had the faith to face challenges, fears, and trials and keep believing that God was going to use their efforts for good.  Today, we stand on the shoulders of faithful Christians who kept the faith and endured, handing the baton to us so we could run the great race of faith in Jesus.  Angie didn’t know it, but she was here with the opportunity to receive that handoff from the work her husband had been doing all those years.  

The last day of their stay, the group went on a float trip down the Current River.  They took the usual accoutrements—paddles, life jackets, sandwiches, and water, but Angie also stowed away something unique, a small canister that she clutched closely.  I drove them to the river and helped them shove off, so only later did I hear the story of what happened next.  The float fell on an arbitrary Thursday, but it marked the anniversary of Ron’s baptism to the day, so about halfway down river the group pulled over on a solitary gravel bar, held a prayer service, and watched with rapt fascination as a teary-eyed Angie produced her parcel, opened it, and sprinkled some of Ron’s ashes upon the water.
​
They were just ashes, but her action reached back in time and connected the group to the apostle Paul’s words he wrote in 2 Timothy that he was “poured out like a drink offering.”  It vividly portrayed the beautiful and terrifying words of Romans 12:1, “Therefore…present your bodies as a living sacrifice, holy and acceptable to God, which is your spiritual worship.”  Seeing the ashes of a life poured out connected to the group members with such impact that a cadre of teens waded into the waters that day, marking their own commitment to Christ through baptism.  

​Later that evening Angie pulled me aside and told me the story.  She proclaimed praise to God and revealed how she had surprised herself by facing her fears—even rappelling twice on climb day!  She got choked up when she shared how God had spoken to her as a fish jumped out of the water at the moment she sprinkled the ashes of her late fisherman husband.  With tears glistening her cheeks, she confessed “I came to see what this place was all about, and God has met me here, turning tears of grief into tears of joy.”  

“Even if I am to be poured out as a drink offering upon the sacrificial offering
of your faith, I am glad and rejoice with you all.”
Philippians 2:17  

​This spring, my mom brought a group of ladies from my home church to DM for a weekend retreat.  In working with her to set up their schedule for the weekend, we decided that climbing on our 5-Fun Rock Wall here on camp would offer a great chance for the group to experience challenge and victory while uniting them for the weekend.  I was quite excited with the plan, knowing that since I am currently the only female senior instructor here at DM, I would get to facilitate their day of rock climbing.

A couple weeks before the retreat, when I received the group’s roster, I was delighted to find that I had deep ties in this group of 9 ladies whose ages ranged from 35 to 75 years old.  My mother, my aunt, a previous boss, a high school mentor, and many other gals from church and the community had all signed up to come.  It would be fun to see them all again.

​Then doubts began to grow.  How would they receive instruction from someone that they had watched grow up?  What authority did I even have to speak into their lives? Could the Lord really use me in this situation?  How was I supposed to lead all these women who had led me in so many ways?  I was feeling nervous and unsure of how the Lord could use me when these ladies had so much more life experience than I do.  Most of them have been walking with the Lord longer than I have been alive! 

​The morning of the scheduled rock climb, I opened my Bible to the story of Moses in Exodus chapter three, and as I read, I was deeply encouraged. There in the wilderness, God comes to Moses in the burning bush and reveals His plan to rescue the Israelites out of Egypt.  He tells Moses he is the man for the job, and he is to start by delivering a message to Pharoah. Whoa!

​Moses’ response is something I can relate to.  “Who am I,” he asks “that I should go to Pharoah and bring the Israelites out of Egypt?”

God’s response to his question blows my socks off.  I would have given Moses a pep talk, telling him about all the miracles he would perform, giving him a glimpse of the epic adventures ahead, and assuring him of success.  But God…God offers just five words laden with power, grace, and love: “I will be with you.”

​Those five words change everything.  Moses doesn’t need a pep talk; what he needs is the Lord’s presence.  God doesn’t shine the spotlight on Moses and heap on pressure to carry out the plan.  He points the spotlight upon Himself so that Moses can keep his eyes on the Lord.  God essentially said, “It doesn’t matter who you are. I AM!”
​
The Lord kept His promise.  His Shekinah Glory—His tangible presence—went with the Israelites for the next 40 years as they wander through the wilderness. A pillar of cloud covered them by day and a pillar of fire protected them by night.  He never broke this promise.  Even though they grumbled and disobeyed Him over and over again, the Lord’s presence was with them every step of the way.

​I needed that reminder that morning, and I needed the support of the staff.  As we gathered for a quick prayer time to start the day, I asked for prayer over the ladies and confessed how nervous and unsure I was feeling about stepping into a leadership role with this group. Joel gave me a word of encouragement and guidance, and we prayed that the Lord would reveal His Shekinah Glory to this group, that they would experience His tangible presence that day. 

​When the ladies gathered with mixed feelings about the rock climb, I asked them a question:  What do you want to get out of this day?  I knew that I could neither force them to get anything out of the day nor make them truly commit to the experience and give it all they had.  Only they themselves could do that, and I had to let go of control, allowing the Lord to do His work within these ladies.  

​After a pause, one of the ladies responded, “I’m 75 years old, and when I heard we were going rock climbing, I didn’t think I was going to participate, but what better time is there to try than now?  So, my goal is to get on that wall and then go as high as I can!”

She had definitely set the bar high, and I could see everyone else in the group considering her target.  Gradually, I saw in each woman’s eyes the commitment that I was looking for.  They accepted the assignment; they wanted it!  I could see that they would not give up when it became difficult but would lean into the challenge and experience what the Lord had for them within that place of vulnerability.

​About halfway through the climb as I was belaying one of the ladies, I took note of the group as they cheered and coached her up the wall.  She was struggling and muttered, “I don’t think I can.”  I barely heard her denial because the ladies’ cheers of encouragement at the bottom drowned her out.  Despite her doubts, she kept moving—right hand up, right foot up, left hand up, left foot up. Then she reached the top of the climb! 

I looked over and saw joyful tears shimmering in my mom’s eyes and falling down her cheeks. She had been unsure how the rock climbing would go, but the Lord was here.  His presence was with these ladies and His spirit was inside them, doing only what He can do.

​I remembered my earlier uncertainty and realized every prayer so urgently uttered before the climb had been answered more abundantly than I could have imagined! The Lord was reminding me of what He can do through a willing servant.  That is exactly what I want to be, unconcerned about who I am and fully engulfed in who God is and what He can do through me! 

My main assignment that day was picking up the expedition group from the backcountry trailhead and driving them back to basecamp.  I arrived shortly before the group appeared, and the weary hikers joyfully settled on the bus.  The day was going well, but as I drove down the country dirt road back to camp a sinking feeling that I was on a course for disaster descended in the pit of my gut like a threatening dark cloud. 

It took only a couple minutes to realize I had missed the road that would have provided the swiftest passage home; I realized my error, but I didn’t change course.  I kept going and reasoned that finding a turnaround on the narrow gravel stretch would be difficult with a van and trailer.  I rationalized further that this would inconvenience the group, requiring them to disembark and help detach the trailer and swing it around to retrace our route.  However, if I’d been totally honest about what fueled my greatest reason for not turning around to go the right way I'd had admitted it was my pride.  But I needed to save face in front of these people who had just achieved a great challenging and bonding experience through adversity.  I felt the pressure to fit in and not show weakness or incompetence by admitting I had made a mistake.  So, I kept driving the wrong way, assuming optimistically that the road would soon curve in the direction I needed it to go and, somehow, magically bring us to the main highway home.  I rationalized that this slight alteration wouldn’t cause much inconvenience, and the group need not know my error.  Yes, I could save face.  

I began to realize the road I was following didn’t supernaturally curve in the direction I was hoping for.  In fact, it veered exactly the opposite direction from basecamp, but I kept driving.  The farther I went the more the pressure mounted because now if I turned round, I was going to add a significant amount of travel time to the day.  And my face would be covered in egg, so I kept driving. 

Pretty soon, I knew I had gone so far that I couldn’t reasonably turn around.  At that moment I decided to throw all my chips in and dedicate myself to the road I was on even though it was the wrong way and I didn't know where it would lead.  I believed that eventually I would hit blacktop and then come upon a familiar town or landmark.  Then surely upon a major highway we would arrive back at basecamp.  So, I pressed the accelerator pedal a little harder and kept going. 
​
By now, the expedition participants were quietly gazing out the windows, probably wondering why the drive was taking longer than the morning's hike.  The instructors who knew the area certainly must have wondered if I’d lost my sanity, but out of respect, they said nothing, just trusting that I was making the best decisions for the good of everyone.  What I was really doing was trying to preserve my self-image that I’m a competent logistics driver who knows my way around, but what the devil was screaming in my ear was that after 20 years of backcountry navigation and instructorship, the best I can offer is incompetence.  

I breathed a sigh of relief when we finally reached a small, backwater town with a road sign directing us toward a bigger town that I recognized.  So, I got on the path of familiarity, grateful that I wasn’t wandering anymore.  Now, I could keep driving because the fact remained that I was nowhere near where I was supposed to be.  My pride would add nearly two hours to the journey home as we traveled over some of the most curvy and hilly stretches of highway in America.  All the while, silently loathing myself for the error, I kept driving. 

Later after logging nearly 100 extra driving miles, pulling over once to allow a carsick participant to throw up, and significantly delaying the group’s post-trip cleanup, dinner, and departure timeline, we arrived at basecamp.  The ironic reality remained that the naive participants trusted that I had chosen the best way to get out of the backcountry for our return home.  In the end, I had saved face.  
​
Reflecting over the next couple days on my major, directional error, I felt disgusted with myself.  The real cause of the problem had not been my mistake in missing a turn; we all make mistakes.  My problem was my pride.  Thinking back to that long drive, I recalled a quiet breath-prayer that I had uttered as I drove that narrow, dirt road: “God what should I do?”  Evidently, I was not really wanting an answer!

“Turn around.” I heard the Spirit say, but I was too committed to saving face with the people too listen to God.  He answered, but I was unwilling to obey.  I kept driving, and it cost the people with me.  Pride had undermined my leadership and established that I would sacrifice the group’s good so that I would not look incompetent.  I was convicted, and I repented.

The next day, I apologized to the instructors, not so much for my missing the turn, but for the pride that followed.  They generously forgave me, but I had to own the reality of my pride and wonder, “Where does this compulsive drive to save face come from?”  For me, the answer lies in a false identity that says I have to look competent and skilled to be valuable and loved.  The belief goes deep and is rooted in a lot of undisciplined listening to the world and the cause and effect of ego strokes and soul wounds from people and myself. 

I had grown to a place where saving face matters so much because I had neglected to consider what God says about me; I doubted His love.  What I need to do is stop trying to save my face and start seeking His face.  Psalm 27:8 declares, “You have said, ‘Seek my face.’” My heart says to you, “Your face, LORD, do I seek.”’
​
I think there is a tendency to feel that God is nearly always disappointed in us for one reason or another.  It’s true!  There’s lots for Him to choose from when it comes to our sinfulness, but when we live with the sense that Jesus is fed up with us, we find it difficult even to want to seek His face.  Furthermore, it’s an affront to His sacrifice on the cross, as if to say that what He did had no power or value to actually sanctify us and make us saints.  Let me be clear.  When God looks at the believer in Christ He sees saints, not sinners, and His reality is supreme over ours.  How often I forget that part of the gospel!  I find myself compelled by the pressures of other voices and other faces to project more confidence, competence, successfulness, wealth, value, and greatness than are mine to give.   

After the frightfully long journey of picking up the backpackers, the instructors forgave me and God forgave me and I even forgave myself, but if I could go back in time, I would swallow my pride, apply the brakes, and turn around.  I would have looked less competent and perhaps had to endure the momentary derision of trip participants.  My error would have been blatant, out there to be criticized.  However, if I had just taken the humble approach, I would have mimicked the humility of Christ.  He would have seen me as one who believes I’m valuable and loved despite my mistakes.  I would have spared the group a more arduous journey, and I would have had the opportunity to experience something far greater than looking good before people.  I could have traded in saving my own face for seeing God’s face. 

Let’s commit together that next time we take a wrong turn, make a mistake, or show our incompetence, instead of  keeping on in our pride, we will close our eyes, take a deep breath, look not at saving our own face, but fix our eyes on Jesus’ face—winsome and smiling at us because of the greatest truth in the world: to Him we are beloved.  His love endures forever!