One of my friend’s
roommates had a brother who had also arrived early, and the two of us decided
to explore together. There was one thing I had set my heart on from the moment
I saw it. I wanted to climb the mountain up to the big white Y. Every freshman
did it at the beginning of the semester
as a group activity, but I was restless and eager, and it seemed like the
perfect challenge for that week.
We set off with
the confidence of young people who believe enthusiasm is the same thing as
preparation. We lined up our sights directly below the Y and began climbing
straight up the mountain. We had heard that there was a winding trail
somewhere, but we were certain our way would be faster. After all, the goal was
right there in front of us.
At first it was
exhilarating. The air was crisp, the view was opening beneath us, and we felt
strong. But the higher we climbed, the steeper it became. I was from Texas, and
I had never lived near mountains. I was not used to the altitude, and I felt
every bit of it. The fun gave way to burning legs, short breaths, slipping
rocks, and the slow realization that this was not the brilliant shortcut we
imagined. Eventually, exhausted and humbled, we turned around and made the long
walk back down the mountain and then all the way back to the apartment.
It was not until
later, when I joined the freshman class and followed the real trail, that I
understood the purpose of the winding path. It was not designed to waste time
or make the journey longer. It existed because it was the best way to reach the
top safely and steadily, with enough strength left to enjoy the view once you
arrived. And even that better path was hard. The switchbacks helped, but the
climb still demanded effort, patience, and lungs that were learning how to work
in thinner air. The mountain had to be climbed by degrees.
I have learned
since then that a path can wind or curve around obstacles and still move in a
true direction. It may bend, it may rise and fall, it may offer new views at
every turn, yet the overall course remains faithful to its purpose. Matthew 7:14
teaches that the gate is strait and the way is narrow that leads to life. A
path can feel winding and even tortuous while we are walking it, but from a
higher perspective it follows a steady and trustworthy line.
Life is very much
like that. We often know where we want to go, but we do not always know how to
get there. We see the destination clearly and assume the straight line must be
the best line. Yet those who have gone before us know the terrain. They know the
switchbacks, the resting places, the gentle curves that keep us moving upward
without breaking us.
The Plan of
Salvation is like that winding trail. It guides us back to our Heavenly Father
step by step and degree by degree. Some people do not yet know that such a path
exists and are choosing paths that they think are best, but we can bless their
journey by sharing what we have learned. If I had simply asked someone familiar
with the Y how to get there, I could have saved myself a great deal of
frustration and a very sore pair of legs.
The path of life
is a winding road, not a rigid straight line. We bend and curve around the
sharp turns, learning and growing as we go. And as we keep moving in the
direction of our hopes and dreams, we discover that the winding way was never a
detour. It was the way all along.
Climbing mountains
in life is never easy. Each step tests our strength and faith, yet God prepares
us long before He places those mountains in our path. He equips us with the
courage, endurance, and wisdom we will need, and then He walks beside us as we climb.
The struggle itself becomes beautiful, shaping our hearts and deepening our
trust. And when we finally reach the summit, the view is more breathtaking than
we could ever have imagined.
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