The highs and lows of Rocky Mountain reflections

The mountains are calling, but I don't always listen to what they say

I’ve spent my summer visiting the mountains of Colorado since I was a little girl. Something about those sweeping blue skies and towering 14ers make me feel more like myself than any other place in the world.

1980 - Me, front and center, on our annual family trip to Almont, Colorado.

I don’t care about external appearances when I’m in the mountains (i.e. no makeup, hair in hats and messy braids — just like when I was a kid). It’s almost like layers of stress, worry and fear are lifted from my shoulders as soon as we exit the west side of Eisenhower tunnel. The mountains have an extreme calming effect on my heart. I feel closer to God — and maybe I am given that we spend the week 9,000+ ft above sea level.

In my favorite place with my favorite person.

Going into this year’s trip, I was excited to walk all my favorite hikes, sip my morning coffee in the cool mountain air, have a stack of pancakes at my breakfast spot, and soak up every day the incredible beauty of this place. Plus we were sharing the week with dear friends, introducing them to all our favorite things about Colorado.

All of these are the highs of Rocky Mountain time.

But there were some lows with this year’s trip that I didn’t expect.

I didn’t expect to start the week by falling down the stairs of our rental house, leaving parts of my body black and blue, but, thankfully, not broken.

I didn’t expect to feel sadness about this being one of our last family vacations before sending Rinner off to college. Sure, he may go with us again in the future, but he might also have his own plans with new friends and I want him to have those experiences, too.

New adventures are just ahead for this guy.

I didn’t expect to feel the tension of being in such a beautiful place while carrying grief for the Texas Hill Country floods. Next to Colorado, summer camp was my other happy place as a kid. My heart aches for the girls who passed away at Camp Mystic — surely a place where they felt most like themselves, full of joy and peace.

I didn’t expect to feel the worry that’s constantly beneath the surface of my heart these days, ever since Jon lost his job in March. I planned to leave that burden at home knowing it would be waiting for me when I got back. But it found me in Colorado as he got called for another interview while we were there (high) only to find out upon returning that he was passed over for someone else (low).

Experiencing all these highs and lows in a place that I truly love left me a bit unsure of how I truly felt about our trip.

Yes, we had a wonderful time enjoying the beauty of the mountains and taking advantage of all they have to offer. But, it also hurt physically, it was hard emotionally, and as much as I wanted to escape the harsh reality of life, I couldn’t get away from it, even in my happy place.

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There’s this saying you frequently see in Colorado gift shops, usually embroidered on tea towels or printed on the label of a pine-scented candle: The mountains are calling and I must go.

John Muir, naturalist and founder of the Sierra Club, wrote it in a letter to his sister in 1873. For Muir, answering the call of the mountains wasn’t about escapism, it was about work — he was going into the mountains to study nature in order to help preserve it.

I’ve always seen the mountains as the place where I feel most like myself and less burdened by life. But Muir saw them as a place to (literally) dig in and uncover what was happening in that ecosystem, to study and explore it in order to sustain it.

I think Muir was on to something.

Back at home, reflecting on my Rocky Mountain highs and lows, I wonder what might have happened if I had gone into this trip with the mentality of a scientist, looking for clues as to what was off in my life instead of mentally checking out for a week. Might I have discovered something just beneath the surface that needed tending to in order to help it grow and thrive in the months and years to come?

I’m pretty sure I would have discovered that making rest and exercise a priority during this high/low season would help me feel physically stronger during tough weeks. And I’m confident I would have been reminded that asking for help when I’m feeling overwhelmed (instead of trying to do it all myself) would help me find balance when things feel out of control.

The mountains are calling, but I don't like to listen to what they have to say, mostly because its easier to look up at their beauty and ignore what’s really going on.

The writer of Psalm 121 must have understood this…

”I look up to the mountains — does my help come from there? My help comes from the Lord, who made heaven and earth!” (Ps. 121:1-2)

If I’m being honest, sometimes escapism feels easier than turning to Jesus and trusting him with my heavy heart. I know He has good plans for me, but when I don’t have a clue what those good plans are, it can be hard to let go and trust him.

Corrie Ten Boom famously said, “Hold everything in your hands lightly, otherwise it hurts when God pries your fingers open.”

Lately, there’s been a lot of finger prying. And, it hurts. But, one digit at a time, I’m learning to release the heaviness, the fear, the doubts, the what ifs, and the unknowns, into his trustworthy, nail-scarred hands.

Slowly but surely, I’m finding the hope my heart has been desperately seeking. Not in a place, but in the Prince of Peace.

While the mountains will continue to be my favorite place, I am finding that His love is changing me more than any change of scenery ever could.

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