by Joel BatesEvery DM intern must complete certain assigned readings from the shelves of our camp library. We have some good ones, like Viktor Frankl’s Man’s Search for Meaning and Ashley Denton’s Outdoor Leadership, but my all-time favorite is Alfred Lansing’s Endurance. Though I’d read the story before, I found for the first time a message of Jesus sandwiched between the lines.
The ship was lost, but the men aboard were not. We read how they painstakingly hauled their equipment and stores miles and miles across the treacherous ice tundra, always taking sightings and plotting a course for the freedom and salvation of the ocean that lay north. Months and months, they traveled with persistence and fervor across the rolling tide of the floes to reach the sea. But alas, the sea presented another test of their skill and resolve as they embarked again on a perilous journey, braving the icebergs, encountering pack ice, and being drenched by the icy spray from the swells of the open ocean.
Though riddled with scenes of peril, intrigue, and the anguish of their plight, it was the book’s last few pages that brought tears to my eyes. Against all odds and with unmistakable divine intervention, Shackleton prevailed and returned to rescue his crew who had waited faithfully for months. The captain refused to rest easy until the last soul was reclaimed from Elephant Island, and as those souls step into the lifeboat, “everything that had only moments before seemed so important, now faded into nothing at the realization of their rescue.” I cannot help but think of our great expedition leader, Jesus. He crossed a void we could not cross. He overcame all odds to rescue us. I want to be like that crew awaiting their captain, faithfully believing that he would return. I will not lose hope, not grow apathetic, not become consumed with hoarding all I can to preserve myself in this current situation. With my Savior looking on, I want to be one who steps into that lifeboat, having never lost faith, having never given up the fight, and never looking back and longing for the trappings of all the remains on icy, Elephant Island—things that seemed so important only moments before, but now fade into nothing. When interns ask which book to read first, I might just suggest, The Gospel according to Endurance. For our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us
an eternal glory that far outweighs them all. So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen, since what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal. 2 Corinthians 4:17-18 (NIV)
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by: Joel BatesHave you ever hunted for real treasure? The other day, I sat out behind my house in the misty woods, enjoying a small campfire. I was relishing time with Jesus in prayer and in His Word when I heard Him say, “Let’s take a walk. I want to show you a treasure.” My little fire was warm, so I hesitated to leave its comfort, but drawn by the promise of a prize that God wanted to show me, I got up and started walking. I went north, down a big, forested slope that ended in a sharply enclosed ravine. As I walked, I wondered what awaited, and to my delight, the Lord said, “Look closer.” With great curiosity, I began examining each tree…each leaf…each rock, but nothing seemed very remarkable. Then, I spied a familiar outcropping of igneous rock and made a beeline for it. Rocks like that, protruding from the side of a hill, often identify a cave. What if all this time there had been an exciting cave right under my nose? Surely, this was the surprise Jesus wanted to show me. I could easily imagine how important a new cave would be for ministry use. However, as I crawled around the distended formation, I found no gaping opening that invited exploration. Disappointed, I continued on until I came to a small dried up creek bed. Years ago, my family and I had walked this way and chanced upon an incredible find—two huge deer antlers with skulls intact had lain locked together. They told the story of a duel fought long ago that ended in defeat for both prideful victims. I began to search the area more closely for any signs of deer or any trace of an antler shed that I could take home to surprise my kids. But the more I explored, the more I got the feeling that this, too, was not what the Lord had in mind. So, I kept going, looking intently for caves and deer antlers, mind you. Before long, I neared the top of a rise that offered a little clearing. The more I survey the area, the more I could imagine a house built upon this hill, or better yet, a lodge for camp use, standing as a sentinel. Yes, perhaps this was what the Lord had been trying to show me. Did He want me to build here—more buildings to use for Kingdom purposes, more beds to house more participants for more camp programs? Then I heard the still small voice of the Lord say, “Keep going.” I guess this was not the treasure He wanted to show me. As I walked down another slope and back up again, I began to doubt whether I had really heard the Lord. Maybe I just thought I had received His direction. That’s when I saw a gravel road, emerging from the thick forest, I stood in the middle of the road and looked first left then right. A sign guarded the entrance with bold white letters on a red background. It said, “STOP!” I had seen it before, but in fact, the sign was quite common and seldom caused much reflection. I stood there blinking at it, somehow knowing it was not only for passing automobiles, but for me, too. I knew this gravel road all too well. It’s the road my new neighbors live on. I still have not introduced myself to them. And, then I thought of elderly Lenny, a widower living out there with no family around. This road leads to the homes of friends and neighbors. I haven’t talked to any of them lately. I knew without Him even telling me, but He said it anyway, “This is the treasure I wanted to show you--people.” God had placed people near me, or maybe more correctly, He had place me near them. I haven’t met those new neighbors who may not even know Jesus. I have forgotten an elderly fellow who could use a friend to offer the companionship of Christ. Have I abandoned longtime acquaintances who could simply use an encouraging reminder that God loves them? I wiped a tear from my misting eyes as I realized how seldom I treasure the things God treasures. If I want to be like Jesus, I must care about what He cares about. If left to my own pursuits, I would settle for holes in the ground, horns to mount on the wall, and hills to build on, but God reminded me that He so loved the world—the people—that He gave His only son. They are the treasure God seeks. They must become our treasures, too. This holiday season, consider the words of the Savior: …but lay up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where neither moth nor rust destroys
and where thieves do not break in and steal. For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also. But seek first the kingdom of God and his righteousness, and all these things will be added to you. Matthew 6:20-21 & 33 A testimony of God’s Guidance to Us on Our Climb Up the Grand Tetonby Joel BatesThinking back to a moonlit night this past September, vivid images scroll across my mind: the gaping moraine with its towering mountain spires shooting up out of the glacier, standing as silent, ghostlike sentinels; a once pristine, now off-white snow field, stained with sooty, late-season runoff down its aged, icy crust; and ancient, deep crevasses with dirt marking them like open wounds. Our objective, the towering summit, lay above a forbidding pass which imposed its strong will against us and denied us both easy passage and swift ascent. This was the Grand Teton. Months earlier, we had set our sights on summiting the “Grand.” Poring over guidebooks, training our muscles for climbing, and practicing the technical skills of multi-pitch lead climbing prepared us for the day we would make our strike for the summit. Drawn finally to its heights as though called by an invitation from God, our three-person team—my co-worker Leah, my 18-year-old daughter Emma, and I—faced the formidable peak. Feeling vulnerable, uncertain, and shrouded in deep darkness, we could see no refuge on the hard trail. It was as if we were marooned along the side of the mountain. If not for breadcrumbs of grace and benevolent guidance from the “Good Shepherd,” we would surely have failed. From the moment this mission began, it seemed like the cards were stacked against us. On
arriving in the Teton National Park, the permit ranger informed us that a big storm was forecasted to hit the range the day we had planned to summit. So, our well-designed plan stood jeopardized. Though wearied by two days of hard driving and wrestling with indecision as the afternoon shadows grew longer, we opted to chuck our preplanned itinerary in the trash and hit the trail immediately in an attempt to outrun the threatening tempest. I knew I was breaking one of my own expedition rules by allowing time pressure to dictate our decision, and then, less than an hour after complete darkness engulfed us, the trail seemed to dwindle to nothing among the giant boulder field. I realized I was breaking another rule: Safety lies in the leader’s level of training. I feared my lack of training and experience for this venture could very well place our team in an extremely unsafe situation. As the expedition’s leader and our strongest climber, I felt the burden of leadership weighing me down more than my heavy backpack. The truth is, I was lost and had no one to lead me to safety. I looked back and saw Emma and Leah clambering over the boulders, faithfully abandoning themselves to my leadership. I didn’t want harm to come to them, and I didn’t want to let them down. I faced a choice: either pretend I knew what I was doing, hoping I could get us back on the trail and eventually to the top or lift my face toward heaven and ask for help. I made the simple choice made easier by the cloak of darkness, as I uttered a prayer under my breath, Father, I’m lost please show me the way. As I muttered the last word, I saw a gleaming headlamp from some tardy, woebegone hikers still trudging down the trail after a late-in-the-day summit. They were 100 feet to my left, so I boulder-hopped over to them and acted casual as I asked if the trail continued from the direction they had come from. “It gets better as you go,” they said. Thank you, God! Soon we were making good time, huffing and puffing upward, when suddenly Emma called for a rest. She shed her weighty pack, bent over at the waist, and promptly spewed the contents of her stomach behind a large rock. The high altitude combined with her fatigue to take its toll on her body. Now, we stood stranded on the side of a mountain in the dark and had little choice but to press on to a campsite. Leah and I divided much of Emma’s gear and added it to our packs to relieve her stress before we pushed on. Oh God, give us strength, I whispered. After an hour or more of aggressive, steep hiking, we found our energy reserves depleted. We desperately needed to stop, but we had no suitable place to pitch our tent without being vulnerable to the elements. Again, I prayed, God provide for us, and simultaneously to my plea, Leah spotted a light in the distance above us. “Maybe it’s a campsite,” she judged. “The person doesn’t seem to be hiking.” We discovered four, small, high-mountain campsites, the last refuge below tree line, nestled among boulders and scrubby spruce and rejoiced to find the last and smallest site unoccupied. Our tent fit perfectly. We wasted no time in making camp and enjoying a hasty, late-night snack. We prayed for Emma’s healing and lay down for a mere four-hour respite before waking at 3:00 AM for the final push to the summit. Lying there waiting for sleep to overtake me, my thoughts centered on our circumstances. We were racing the clock. One of our party was ill, and I felt a growing sense of insecurity caused by my frequent bouts of disorientation. We had not totally failed yet, but I held little hope that we would actually succeed. I meditated on the eddying thoughts for a moment until another thought pushed the concern aside and intruded upon my worry. “Have I not invited you?” The unmistakable voice of the Holy Spirit was questioning me. I wanted to say, “But I’ve almost gotten us lost three times! My daughter is sickly and ought not be pushed any farther! I doubt whether I have the courage necessary to follow You to the top.” However, against these objections, I whispered, “Yes! Yes, God, despite all my doubts and conclusions, as You remove the obstacles and guide my bearing, I will keep ascending.” What is it with God, anyway? Why does He do this to us? He seems bent on making our relationship with Him so dramatic, so dangerous and costly, so real. Abraham was invited to follow a little-known God to an unknown land. That’s just crazy! David, though he was an insignificant shepherd boy, was anointed to become the greatest king, aside from a descendant who would take up the throne in his line someday—Jesus, the King of Kings. From a burning bush, God invites Moses—the murderous, adopted son of an enemy pharaoh, now a Bedouin shepherd nobody—to free a miserable people group an lead them into an inheritance and blessing they would never fully comprehend? Why Indeed! Hebrews 11:1 tells us “Faith is being sure of what we hope for and certain of what we do not see.” Oh, the drama sandwiched between these lines of text! In verse 6, the writer of Hebrews continues the mystery revealing the impetus behind why life with God is so theatrical, “And without faith it is impossible to please Him [God], for whoever would draw near to God must believe that He exists and that He rewards those who seek Him.” He is creating more than an exciting story with our lives. He’s crafting a framework for closeness with Him, and there is a reward for trusting Him. By 3:15 a.m., we were making tracks. Emma was feeling better; Leah reported renewal from her rest; and I felt more confident. Over the next 18 hours, I followed breadcrumbs of grace. When we ran out of water on the lower saddle, our futile search for the guidebook’s promised “glacial trickle” prompted my prayers. It was then that Emma immediately discovered the water source. As we approached the ambiguous rocky intersection, “The Needle’s Eye,” where the technical, Upper Exum ridge forks from the main trail and we could have easily strayed, a random couple just ahead of us pointed the way. As I roped up and began ascending the famous “Wall Street” approach, I was overcome by uncharacteristic confidence as I stemmed over the thousand-foot sheer drop expanse of the daunting “Step Across.” However, God’s most obvious confirmation of His invitation to us was the sunlight and warmth that poured forth from the heavens. What made His goodness so evident was the expansive, dark and ominous cloudbank that hovered in a semicircle, promising a storm just miles in the distance. It mounted and gathered all that day, trying to press in and impose its will and do us harm, but for the duration of our special climb with Jesus, all was sunny and peaceful on the mountain. The following day, the day we had originally planned to summit, dawned gloomy, bleak, and wet. It was then that we discovered the full extent of the Lord’s kindness and faithfulness to us. Throughout the day, we encountered in a long line of crestfallen, soggy, would-be mountaineers, barred from the summit and forced to retreat before a barrage of rain and as they descended below the snow and ice. In contrast, Leah, Emma, and I were soggy to be sure, but not sorrowful, for we had reached the summit of the Grand Teton. God had protected us from the storm and guided us completely up the Exum Ridge route. We not only reveled in the reward of faithfully following Him, we experienced real life by accepting His grand invitation. |
Come along side us as we journey in and out of the wilderness, discovering our Creator in creation.
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