We don’t miss opportunities to tell one another we love each other. We nearly always kiss goodbye when the other one goes on an errand. We don’t leave apologies unsaid. We’ve learned how quickly things can change and we may not have another chance.
Hiking now brings back happy memories and time for contemplation. Most of the time I enjoy it, but I must confess, I’m happier when I reach the summit and not while I’m huffing and puffing up the trail.
A few weeks ago, one cheerful sunny morning, we walked along the road and heard the rumble and grind of large equipment.
I've been feeling a bit melancholic the past week or so. Part of the melancholy is that summer is waning.
Just last month, I climbed the mountain for the eleventh time. It wasn’t any easier, even though I’d summited it ten times before. The rocks seemed bigger. I carefully picked the safest and steadiest one. I had to work on my breathing as I climbed. I wanted to stop, sit down, rest, and not go any farther. But I wouldn’t have seen the glorious view at the top. I would have missed high-fiving my two grandsons, my daughter--now forty years old.
We have to face snakes and fears and then ask that wise question: “Is it real?” If so, we face it with a friend or husband—or loving Savior, Jesus. And if it isn’t real, go on from there and trash the rubber snake—fear. And briskly wipe our hands and go on from there.
