Come to the Mountains

by Joel Bates

By the end of last summer’s busy retreat season, I was tired—tired of the bugs, tired of the Ozark’s humid heat, tired of the pressures of leading and facilitating groups of young people through the backcountry.  It was about this time, as I was spending some time in prayer, that I heard the Lord prompt in His still small voice, “Come to the mountains.”  I love the mountains, the real mountains of the western United States, where a peak pushing above 10,000 feet is considered medium sized.  I loved the idea, but the invitation seemed improbable.  I didn’t have the provision, a plan, or a partner, yet the nagging sense of invitation, coupled with the yearning to breathe high-elevation air, kept calling to me. 

A few days later, my friend in Colorado called, and in the course of our conversation, I mentioned how lucky he was to be in the mountains.  “Come out and let’s go backpacking,” he offered.  “I’ve got a pile of airfare points and can spot you the ticket price.” 
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Wow!  I had the provision, the plan and the partner all in the course of one phone call.  What I didn’t know at the time was that it would take something more like a miracle for this to work.

The day came for me to fly to the mountains, and as is often the case with busy people who overlook details, I failed to make sure my credentials were up to date.  Minutes before jumping into the car to head to the airport I grabbed my passport.  “EXPIRED!”  I called the airlines.  “Do you have a ‘REAL’ I.D.?” they asked.  “NO!” 

My wife graciously consoled me in my anguish and idiocy.  She reminded me, “But God did invite you to the mountains, so I think you should still try.” 

All the way to the airport, I fought back visions of being a laughing stock at the ticket counter.  Surely a cruel TSA agent would take one look at me and laugh maniacally.  Then picking up the intercom, he would announce to the entire international airport that if anyone wanted to see a genuine, incompetent, audacious ignoramus then just come over to the ticket counter where I would be on display.  “Let’s just turn the car around and forget this whole thing!” I pleaded.  But my wife was resilient.  “God invited you.  Let’s see what happens.” 
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As I approached the ticket counter, where I knew full-well what would happen, I was called to the next available attendant.  I didn’t try to make excuses or connive my way forward, I simply plopped my bag on the carousel and matter-of-factly told the lady, “I’m sure I won’t be allowed to fly.  My passport’s expired, and I don’t have a real ID.”  

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Looking up from her computer, she smiled kindly and told me to go over to the TSA agent and check in. 
I went as directed, suddenly bolstered by the fact that the ticket lady hadn’t instantly thrown me out on the street.  I was standing in the wrong line, and a TSA agent told me to move to a different line.  A minute later, that same agent approached me and apologized because she thought she had told me to move in a rather abrupt way.  A TSA agent was apologizing to me!  What was going on here? 

The agent in charge beckoned me, and I began my pathetic spiel, attempting to conceal nothing except the fact that I felt irresponsible for not having checked my creds sooner. 

“No problem, sir.  This happens all the time.  And there’s a grace period on your passport.  You’re free to fly.”
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A scene from Star Wars flashed through my mind in which Obi-Wan waves a hand at the storm troopers casually saying, “These are not the droids you are looking for.”  Was I a Jedi?  No, just invited to a mountain party by the One who directs the courses of men.  

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Hours later, I was hiking up a trail with my good friend, despite his car overheating twice on the journey to the trailhead.  I felt invincible that nothing was going to stand in the way of my time with God in the mountains...until the next morning when, at that high altitude, 9” inches of fresh snow greeted us upon unzipping the tent!  As we sat in our shelter wondering what to do and watching the mass exodus of every other hiker on the mountain, I remembered God’s invitation, “Come to the mountains.” 

“Let’s stay and keep going,” I said.  My equally adventurous friend agreed, and soon we were trekking gingerly through deep snow between the boot tracks of the multitude of hikers abandoning the heights.  As we climbed, the sun came out and shone so brilliantly off the freshly fallen snow that we had to shield our eyes to take in the cold, majestic beauty. 
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This backcountry usually hosts a throng of visitors, but that day we saw nary a soul.  We fished the lakes for trout and dined on our fresh catch roasted over our alpine campfire.  By the middle of the next day, the snow had mostly melted, so I decided to climb a nearby peak.  My friend opted to continue fishing in the lakes at the mountain’s base while basking in the 70 degree heat.  

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The trip had been good up to this point, but when I sat among the rock piles on the mountain’s pinnacle, I knew God had invited me to meet Him there.  In my Father-God’s presence, I breathed deeply of the crisp, high-mountain air and tried to wrap my mind around the beauty before me.  Sure, I had summited higher mountains and had wondered at more captivating views in the past, but that day felt distinct.  I sensed a depth of blessing that I was with the One who knows me so well that I don’t have to pretend to be anything but my true self.  God knows I love climbing mountains.  He knows everything about me, and as I sat there wrapped in the fullness of His invitation, having pushed through the doubt, the fear, and the trials, He welcomed me into His intimate space.  I existed there sensing very little separation from Abba; in that moment I was fully known, and I knew Him a little more fully. 

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​Jesus has been inviting people all along—you and me and every disciple through the ages—saying, “Come, follow Me.”  For many, Jesus’ offer appears dangerous and creates a fearful response.  Obedience requires stepping out to follow when all we can see is the impossibility of success, our own self-doubt, and the fearful realities that lie in the path.  Nevertheless, when we boldly risk the consequences and accept His invitation to follow Him, we will experience life in all its fullness.  Instead of the roadblocks, the humiliations, the breakdowns, and the blizzards, we will find reward in life with Him, and it is good.  So come…follow Him…and be blessed!  

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My sheep hear my voice, and I know them, and they follow me.
John 10:27