Lunch Break

It seemed like the perfect day to head to one of the places that brings me joy- the mountains. Despite the weather report of snow flurries and dropping temperatures, the sun shown brightly down onto Denver that morning (besides, during the months of December through March when does the weather reports not include flurries and cold temps?). I threw a quick bag together and headed up. The skies were turning darker with every mile I drove but that was no matter. After all, a girl can still go hiking in the snow and enjoy her day!

I was heading to the same place I had been a week prior with my three little girls. We didn’t manage to get too far since it was a fairly steep incline near the trailhead. After venturing up the trail a little while, I realized there was no way that I could have dragged the girls to the top. But since I didn’t have a 25 pound baby on my back or a 32 pound 3 year old clinging to my neck, it was no problem today for me to trek to the glacier that awaited me.

The air was bitterly cold and bit at my nose every now and then. All I heard was the crunching of my steps and my breath racing in and out. It appeared that someone had broken the trail earlier that morning and admittedly, I was glad for it. I hadn’t come as prepared as I should have (famous last words…literally) and I was wishing I had brought some poles and snowshoes since it was snowing and the traction was difficult.

Once I reached the glacier I took some moments to take it all in. I’ve always felt so vulnerable in the mountains, particularly during the wintertime. During the past year I’ve witnessed policy makers build coalitions and senators act as judges…I’ve had weeks of running around with papers and meetings while cramming in the occasional room parent hours at my kid’s school and late nights of research and phone calls. It’s easy to fool yourself into thinking that you have control of your life or that you’re a pretty important person - but out here - none of that matters. The simplicity and the silence of the mountains trump any personal agenda and all that really matters is getting to where you’re going. I like that.

I sat down on a rock high above the frozen glacier and far below the towering peaks. The wind whipped the snow off the peaks as quickly as it brought it more. I grabbed an apple out of my pack and took note that my only lunch company appeared to be the tree from A Charlie Brown’s Christmas and the squirrel that raced around it. There’s something invigorating about being alone with nature that has always brought me a sense of peace. I wondered about the children I’ve worked with throughout the years as a social worker and if any of them have had the opportunity to enjoy the beauty of the mountains the way I have. It’s one thing to know about outdoor recreation and not enjoy it but entirely something different to have never been exposed to it. My thoughts then turned to my own kids and I hoped I would be able to introduce the little miracles of everyday life from the evolution of a pinecone to the dozen points on a snowflake. When I take the time to think about my surroundings, I can’t help but be in awe. I took some time to pray and be still…. I felt renewed. When hiking, I often turn towards the scriptures in which Elijah obeyed God’s instruction and went to the top of Mount Horeb. The wind blew fiercely and fire passed by but God was not in either of those. He came in a still small voice. God didn’t come to Elijah because he conquered some great feat of climbing a mountain but He came to him because Elijah was listening and because Elijah obeyed.

Time passed quickly and I decided after sinking thigh deep into the snow banks, that I had better turn back. My heart sank a bit when I knew it was time to head back just like it always does. It had been a great day. I breathed in the evergreens while glancing around the glacier and took a step back down the trail. And although I usually feel like I leave a small part of myself behind, I smiled inside because I know – I can take the peace of the mountains anywhere I go. There may not be wind whipping off my roof at home or fire in the sky every sunset, but there is the space for that still small voice to guide me…. as long as I am willing.