Lena Travels Up a Cliff

You know how you start getting into something, like running, or morris dancing, or something, and you start seeing it as being this incredible metaphor for life? You know, you start relating EVERYTHING to running. To the point of being kinda irritating. Sometimes beyond that point. And you can FEEL yourself doing it – you hear yourself saying “scripture study is like running – you always know you’ll feel better after you do it, but sometimes you just eat another brownie instead,” for about the fiftieth time, and you can feel your friends being patient with you, and yet you keep going?

I have a new hobby. And I think it could be a fabulous source of metaphors.

I went climbing again the other night. I’ve only been twice outside, so it’s a little early to be over-metaphoring yet, but I shan’t let that stop me. One of our co-workers took us. Even though she’s several years younger than me, I pretty much want to be her when I grow up. She can do everything.

So, climbing is a great way to enjoy the mountains, and a lot of fun, and not even as scary as I’d imagined, but there was this one patch that almost beat me. It was maddening. I was about two-thirds of the way up, and to my unpracticed self, this bit of rock seemed as smooth as a parking lot. My feet kept slipping out of every tiny foothold I found, I kept ending up dangling at the end of the rope being grateful for my belayer, and I broke a nail. That’s when I seriously considered giving up. My legs were wobbly, my arms were crampy, and I was getting tired.

But I knew that it was clime-able. I knew that A. wouldn’t have sent me up the cliff if she hadn’t been pretty sure that I could do it. I knew that I was physically strong enough, and I knew that the equipment was there to help me if I took a little risk.

In the end I made it past the smooth bit, and after that it was beautiful. There was a lovely crack in which I took a breather, and then a nice foothold-rich climb to the top, followed by a leisurely rappel down.

Do you see where I’m going with this?

I was talking to another friend at the end of the evening, and we agreed that it’s like life. You get the slippery patches—sometimes longer than others—but there’s always a way through them, and usually a rewarding view or breathing space soon after. And you have faith, and people, and tools to get you through.

Of course, knowing this isn’t going to make my nail grow back any faster.