Beth Jordan “If we can climb this mountain, then there is nothing that we cannot overcome together!” I can still see my dad struggling to smile and look hopeful as he pointed toward a rocky mountain about 100 feet from the highway. I was 13 at the time, and my dad, older brother, and I were driving through the scorching rocky deserts of Mexico back to the United States to take care of some business. My parents had been doing full-time mission work in Mexico, and I loved being right beside them at every step. Life was beautiful there, and I enjoyed it very much. At this particular time, however, things weren’t so great. My parents were having some difficulties in their marriage, and they had decided to live apart for a few months. I didn’t understand why or exactly know what that meant, except that it seemed pretty serious. Mom had moved away a few weeks before, and I worried and wondered if she would return. For most of the journey, I could tell that my dad was dealing with the difficulty of the situation. He looked sad, worried, and tired. The air was thick with a feeling of weariness and insecurity. At the same time, all three of us began to feel physically sick with headaches, mainly due to the heat, but also because of the emotions of it all; I remember feeling like we could all easily burst into tears. It went on like this for almost a whole day when suddenly, in the middle of nowhere, Dad stopped driving. I can still remember his face; the tears that he was holding back seemed to glisten in his eyes as he got out of the car and told us to come with him. Reluctantly—as teenagers can be—we slowly got out of the car. There, about 100 feet away, rose the big crag of a mountain—all rock. It was at least a couple of hundred feet high and there certainly wasn’t any sort of a path leading up to the top. The heat raged down on our heads as we squinted up at the rocks, then quickly turned around to ensure there weren’t any wandering rattlesnakes or coyotes. We stood there silently wondering what we were supposed to do, when Dad spoke these words: “If we can climb this mountain, then there is nothing that we cannot overcome together!” Somehow he knew that this was the healing that each of us needed. Amazingly, my brother and I, as horrid as we were feeling, didn’t argue with him. I stood there, looking up at this rocky hill, and actually felt challenged to give it a try. Sure, we were tired, sick, and sad, but man, looking up at the top, I knew it was going to feel good to stand up there, having conquered the rocks. We left the camper on the side of the road and, without looking back or stopping to take anything with us, we started climbing upward. After about 10 minutes of climbing, we began having small talk as we wove our way through the rocks and crevasses … a little “Thanks, Dad” here and “Hey, you did that fast!” there. This eased our discomforts and helped to bring focus on the task at hand. We hadn’t said much when we neared the top, nothing significant at least, yet the silent bond we forged on that climb was the beginning of our personal healing. It took us a good two to three hours in the scorching sun before we reached the top, and by then, the wind was blowing and the sun was beginning to set with a gorgeous orange and yellow glow. We were breathless, both from the climb and the panoramic beauty we were privileged to see. We laughed, we talked, and we allowed ourselves to feel our great Creator’s love. We let go of our troubles, and the smiles returned to our faces. As exhausted as we were, I remember feeling so alive, so free, almost … empowered. We climbed down from that mountain changed and renewed. I knew that everything was going to be okay. And it was! My mom came home a couple of months later and everything was back to normal again. God had touched us through the beauty of His nature and the simple illustration of climbing a mountain; He showed us that there wasn’t anything that we couldn’t overcome together, as a family! And He made sure that we felt His love and presence. Taken from http://just1thing.com/podcast/2012/9/30/a-climb-that-healed.html Image courtesy of graur razvan ionut at FreeDigitalPhotos.net
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By Misty Kay I pulled into the driveway about eight o’clock that summer evening. Instead of my husband Daniel, a neighbor met me as I got out of the car. “Did you meet Daniel at the hospital?” she asked. “No, was I supposed to?” “Haven’t you heard?” Those are the words every mother dreads hearing. I immediately thought of Chalsey, my eight-year-old. She’s the accident-prone one in our family. “Chalsey was bitten by a copperhead snake! Daniel rushed her to the hospital an hour ago.” My heart froze. We had killed copperheads on our property before and knew how dangerous they were. A bite from a copperhead can kill a child. I later learned that Chalsey had been collecting bugs to feed the pet iguana and had lifted a small wooden walkway on the side of the house to look for bugs there. When she screamed out in pain, Daniel rushed over, found out what had happened, killed the snake, and took it with them to the hospital so the doctors would know how to treat the bite. I jumped back in the car and headed for the hospital, 15 minutes away. That was probably the longest 15 minutes of my life. A million questions raced through my mind. Is Chalsey in a lot of pain? Is she still conscious—or even alive? How could this have happened? I prayed from the depths of a mother’s heart. It was just between me and God now. My hands trembled on the wheel as I cried out to Him to have mercy and heal my little girl. Flying down the freeway, my heart made a definite connection with His. I was reminded of the story in the Bible about the Shunammite woman whose young son, her only child, had died suddenly (2 Kings 4:8-37). She put him on the prophet Elijah’s bed and went to get Elijah. When she found him, he asked, “Is it well with you? Is it well with the child?” and she replied, “It is well.” How could she say, “It is well”? Obviously it was not well with the child. But her faith was strong. God had given her that child in answer to the prophet’s prayers, although she had been barren. She believed that God was able to restore life to her son, and because of her faith, the boy was raised from the dead, fully healed. The message was clear. God wanted me to trust Him, to believe that He had already heard my prayers and to start thanking Him. It was very emotional for me. I went from desperate tears of pleading, to soul-cleansing tears of surrender, to passionate tears of praise and thankfulness to my loving God. He would do as He knew best. “It is well with the child,” I said aloud in an affirmation of faith. When I arrived at the hospital, I was greatly relieved to find Chalsey awake and talking. Her hand was swollen, her fingers were purple and green, and she was in a lot of pain, but so far the swelling had not gone past her hand. The snake that had bitten her had been young, and the doctor explained that these can be the most dangerous because they don’t yet know how to control their venom. They can give an even higher dose than an adult snake, or they can give a small dose. How much did Chalsey get? Only time would tell. The doctor explained that if the swelling went past the wrist, more drastic measures would be needed. For hours, we watched as her hand got bigger and her fingers changed colors. She was sick and cried in pain. We called friends and family to join us in prayer for her. We claimed in prayer that the venom would spread no farther. I sang songs with Chalsey and quoted Bible verses to her. To our joyful relief, the swelling stopped at her wrist. It was a wonderful answer to prayer! By the next morning she was smiling again, and in time the swelling and discoloration went away. Chalsey is such a resilient child. No matter what happens, she bounces back. (She also loves to show off her scars.) Ever since my trip home from the hospital on the night of the snakebite, I have felt an inner peace. I had faced down my fears. My faith had been tested, stretched, strengthened. Copyright © TFI. Used with permission. |
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