Mount Rainier called me by name, beckoned me to its high places. “No, you have to take a nap,” was not music to my ears. We were camping with a church group and my dad was about to take my big brothers on a walk to the mountain, leaving me behind. Somewhere between three and four years old, it seemed unfair and unkind to leave me out.
Mom tucked me into my sleeping bag in the old army tent that we camped in. I bided my time, watching and waiting until she was sufficiently distracted, slipping away unnoticed, determined to climb the mountain by myself. It never occurred to me that anyone would worry or wonder where I had gone. I headed directly for my destination, expecting to find dad and my brothers when I reached the top.
At some point mom noticed my absence. She rallied the whole community to find me. Eventually someone did. Still walking in sight of the mountain, I was quite puzzled to hear them say I was lost. It was not until my mom came running to gather me in her arms, holding me to her heart, that I could feel the pounding fear, recognizing I had hurt her somehow. Although I never felt lost, suddenly I caught a glimpse of how it felt for my parents to lose me.
Being a source of hurt and harm took my breath away. Dad took me for a walk and explained mountain climbing, talked to me about why a little girl would be wise not to try it alone. It became a pattern for both of them to educate me about the wild world around me. They could have just locked me up or yelled at me, but instead they helped me learn to make life-giving choices and understand responsibility for my actions. Somehow they had the patience to teach me awe and respect in ways that illuminated my limitations without stealing the adventures that encouraged me to test myself, stretching and growing me to meet challenges.
Every year people climb to the top of Mount Rainier, but I am not one of them. Its ancient silhouette guides me and stays with me, reminding me of the love that holds me and does not let go, no matter what. The apostle Paul writes about the body and each of us having a place in it, connected to each other in ways that make us one. He says that what harms one of us harms us all, what blesses one of us blesses us all. The mountain reminds me that we are all in this together, held in this one body we call earth. Even after all these years I am still learning about the awesome freedom and deep responsibility that comes with sharing this earth we all call home.
Each month a member of the Cook County Ministerium will offer Spiritual Reflections. This week our contributor is Pastor Beth Benson of the First Congregational Church, United Church of Christ.
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