For a guy who is scared of heights, I sure end up on a lot of mountain peaks with my sons in scouts. Like King’s Peak, for instance — the highest point in Utah , where I arrived on my hands and knees, but at least I made it!
This June, near the end of a fun, but grueling 8-mile hike called ‘The Subway’ in Zion National Park (over slick rock, through freezing over-your-head water, and ending by climbing a mountain—the perfect hike for scouts!), my 13-year-old son Alex went ahead with the group in front of us while I brought up the rear with two adult leaders, one of whom had a bad knee and was taking it slow.
As it got steeper and steeper on the final switchback ascent up the wash to the cliff, I could feel my fear of heights coming on. I was going slowly and stopping periodically to rest and watch for the other two to catch up, but I had the feeling I needed not to wait for them and hike up as quickly as I could and only watch the next rock right in front of me. It seemed to make sense, so I set off without stopping.
After about 20 minutes, it got so steep that it was all I could do to make myself keep climbing. I was praying all the way up and mentally singing my own verses to “Jesus Savior, Pilot Me. ” As I was clinging to the wall holding on to roots and searching for rocks which wouldn’t dislodge, I thought, “This can’t possibly be the trail. This is too dangerous.”
Just then I heard a voice from up above me call out, “Dad!”
I looked up and could see Alex’s head over the edge of a rock ledge. “Rats,” I thought, “I guess this is the trail.” I called back to him, “How are you, bud?”
“Not good,” he said, “I think I’m stuck and I can’t see where the trail is.”
Now I was praying for both of us. I told him we had to keep going since night would soon be falling and I would stay a little below and to the side of him to avoid the falling rocks when he moved. He found a wall to his left and I pointed out a couple of places where he could get a grip with a hand or a foot—places he couldn’t see from his angle—and up and over he went.
I slowly prayed my way up to the place he’d been and it was the scariest thing I’ve ever done to climb up that nearly-vertical wall and over the edge.
I crawled forward and joined Alex where he’d found a flat place to sit down. While I got out my canteen, he suddenly saw the other two leaders far below us heading side-to-side across the cliff face on an easy level trail. As we gradually worked our way sideways and down to them I found out that Alex had gotten left behind by the group he was with (they told him to stop and wait for his group, but after 20 minutes or so he decided to move ahead). Turns out he missed the sign saying “Danger, do not go this way” and pointing out the safer trail.
Because I’d had the feeling to pull ahead of the others and watch just one rock ahead of me, I missed the sign too and left the trail the same way he’d gone up. The others behind me saw the sign when they got there, and if I’d still been with them we’d have gone the safe way, reached the cars in the lot, and driven off to camp—thinking Alex had gone back with the other group. He would have been sitting there stuck on that ledge as night fell, far off of the trail.
To me it was a miracle that the Lord sent me off on the wrong path, even though it was through a place as scary as possible to me, so I could find my son and we could walk out together before dark, like nothing had happened. I also realized that frightening as that situation was for me, I would be willing to do it again for any of my children.
I cannot thank the Lord enough for Alex being safe and sound. I am doubly grateful the Lord would use me to help one I love more than my own life. I acknowledge the Lord’s hand in “piloting me,” just as I had been asking in song and prayer, even when I didn’t like the path where He sent me, and even though I didn’t know I was being led until afterwards. I was just doing what seemed like the right thing to do at the time. I will always be grateful.
