Piper Mountain
It was a day to climb a mountain. I grabbed my mountain climbing gear – camera and Bible – and headed out – out to the mountain-less wilderness of Ontario, Canada, to find a mountain. And I found it. It was right next to the cabin.
I have found mountains to be everywhere. A mountain doesn’t need to be a mountain mountain to be a mountain. It can be an ant hill. It’s not about height. It’s about climbing, seeking, striving, upwards, towards God - even if one has doubts. It’s about what is real, true, honesty - with God and self, bluntness. It’s a place one can lay face down flat on the ground or sing off key at the top of one’s lungs with arms outstretched.
It's about being alone …with God.
It’s being still ...and letting God be God …to know Him as He is, not as we think He should be.
It’s being a friend …with God.
Be ready by the morning, and come up in the morning to Mount Sinai, and present yourself there to me on the top of the mountain. Ex 34 v2 Thus the LORD used to speak to Moses face to face, as a man speaks to his friend. Ex 33 v11
As I gingerly make my way up the mountain, creating my own way across and around the fallen trees, I was captivated by the beauty. The forest floor was covered with an incredibly soft layer of Irish-green moss. It was as if walking on a Sleep Number bed set in its softest setting …which was a bit tricky to navigate with the Parkinson’s meds not fully working.
The forest floor, when looked at more closely, was not simply of moss. There were textured mushrooms, cinnamon needles, sticks in shades of grey, squiggly-edged hanging moss in rich bluegreens, and a multitude of plant forms I know not the names of - all arranged as God had designed for me to see - known before the creation of the world.
The fallen trees, having fallen at different angles and directions created an art form as beautiful as seen in any art gallery. The trees looked to have fallen randomly, but there was nothing random about their falling. If a sparrow does not fall to the ground without God knowing, would not falling trees also be known? If the falling be known, could not the falling be directed? Could not each lay exactly as it was deemed? Too wondrous for me to comprehend. I decide to simply enjoy.
As I reached what looked to be the mountain top, I found a fallen tree that would work as a place to sit. I opened my Bible and began to listen.
God spoke. Was it as thunder? No. Friends don’t normally speak thunder to each other.
I heard. I did not hear with my ears. Rather, with my heart. It was as if my heart was an ear (in English, there== actually is an ear in heart - h(ear)t).
Was what I heard new? No. I’d read these words many times, in many places, in many circumstances. Were they convicting? Yes, and no. They were more like the words of a loving father confirming, encouraging.
I questioned not if these words were true. Such questions had become more and more rare. It was like taking the bridge across the river. I had crossed this way so many times, with the bridge proving true on each crossing, that I no longer questioned. The bridge had proved true, faithful, all these years. I was free to walk without fear. I could enjoy the words even if I knew I had failed in doing all they said to do. I had come to know my Father as a loving Father desiring the best for me. Knowing His love, His voice, His words were sweet.
When it was time, I talked. He listened. He was not bored …even though He knew what I was going to say before I had even an inkling of the thought.
And He knew what I knew. He knew it – today – was my birthday. And He knew no one else here knew.
It was not just any birthday. It was the birthday ushering in my 70th year. It was the year I would become “old”. I could manipulate the 60s into something a forever-young baby boomer could pretend was not yet old. But 70? 70 is old no matter how one tries to manipulate it. To die now would not be to die young. It would be to die a he-had-a-good-life death.
As I sat there wondering if I should celebrate this birthday in melancholic solitude or with others, I looked down on the lake - the lake we came to fish. I could not see the whole lake, just a bay – a bay we came to know upon arrival was named Piper Bay. What were the chances?
As I looked over the bay I thought of where I sat – on a mountain top - a mountain I had climbed – alone. To be still able to climb a mountain almost 23 years after Parkincense Mountain to spend time with God, my King, my Savior, my friend, leaves me: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dQdfs5S6jyA
Its time to rejoin the others. I head down the mountain – Piper Mountain - deciding to leave the to-tell-or-not-to-tell to God.
As I approached the cabin, Jim, my friend, yells out from up on the deck, for all to hear, “Robin made cookies for your birthday!”
God chose to tell.