The Backpack of Your Soul
"Our family goes to Disneyland," she said.
"We like to drive up and down the coast," he said.
"We hang out at Rocky Point," another added.
"We hike mountains," my daughter said.
When my daughter repeated the conversation to me later about what your family does for vacation, I protested, "We don't always hike mountains."
"If there's a mountain, you will climb it," she said and listed examples of mountains we had climbed, including her senior trip with her dad to the city of Montreal and even there...a mountain.
I conceded. She was right. We climb mountains. It has always been this way. We lace up our hiking boots and hit the trails.
This summer my husband and I are hiking in Peru. Besides visiting Machu Pichu, we plan to hike a 19,000 footer in Arequipa, named El Misti. (Seriously? El Misti? That's the best they could do? Sounds like a name from a Spanish B-grade movie.)
We've discovered it is difficult to train for altitude while living in a desert. Our city rises to a non-imposing elevation of 1214 feet. (Only 17,000 more to go!!)
For the past two months, my husband and I have hiked steps - 7 flights up and 7 flights down, hoping to prepare our legs and our lungs for climbing. Last Saturday we strapped on backpacks with 4-6 liters of water and climbed over 1800 steps.
I couldn't even touch my calf muscles the next day.
Hiking with a loaded backpack is another story entirely. My body wasn't prepared for the additional weight.
The past few months I have written several blogs about death and loss as I watched my dad face eternity without fear. I have wrestled with grief. And saying goodbye.
I have walked a faith journey for many decades, but felt the extra strapped-on weight of eternal questions. The backpack of my soul has been heavy.
In the book, Abide by Macrina Wiederkehr, she writes,
"Put it in the backpack of your soul
and take it for a long, leisurely walk:
eternal life is to know God and to know Jesus."
Kabod is the Hebrew word for God's glory. It literally means weight. This makes sense to me in light of the past few months. I found more in my backpack than I was prepared to carry. I exercised spiritual muscles that had lain dormant. I stretched unused muscles as I hiked up a mountain of grief and wrestled with eternal questions. But I know, with certainty, from hiking other mountains, when I get to the top, the view will be worth it.
I will lift up my eyes to the mountains; From where shall my help come? My help comes from the Lord, Who made heaven and earth. Psalm 121:1-2 NASB
Today,
on your journey of faith,
if you are hiking a mountain,
I pray that your backpack
is full of what matters,
and when you get to the top,
the view will be worth it.