The Joyful Seasons of Glorytelling

My dear Reader, I regret having been so absent from this site, however, I have (from my perspective) good reason. I’ve been working on and have completed another book. If you’re interested, please find it here,

It’s available in both digital and paperback editions.



Brothers of Bethlehem

There’s never a dull day! We boys have been called in the midst of our play to assemble for a surprise. We chatter excitedly, for the Father’s surprises are always most pleasant!

We are told, as we gather in the street in front of our homes, that our Rescuer is coming to see us! We’ve been told He recently did the most amazing thing in that other place, and now He’s coming to live here – here with us! Almost before I’m finished saying that, there He is! He’s just appearing several paces away, walking quickly toward us wearing a warm smile. As we most excitedly gather around Him, He wraps us in His arms and lifts us each, in turn, into a bear hug. He’s really pressing His cheek into mine! Is that a tear I feel? There is no weeping here, yet maybe He allows Himself a tear. Nevertheless, I’ve never felt anything like the love He has for me. It radiates from Him! It makes me radiant in turn! Jesus, Lamb of God! Our King! Holding me to His breast!
But . . . what? Before I can even absorb what is happening, He’s saying that He has another surprise for us, that we should be still and watch where the road curves around a forest of trees. What could it be? My mind races in anticipation. It is having quite a time being still.

Here I am with my Savior, yet I’m remembering things – like how we were whisked away before the wicked blades of evil could violate us. We’ve been told we were but babies the same age as the Savior, but He escaped and we were taken. We’ve been told that our mothers, and, of course, our fathers too, have wondered why they were not warned as well. It would sadden us for our parents if we were still in the other place, but here we are happy for ourselves, we Brothers of Bethlehem.

We’ve been told that the times were very complicated. We’ve been given a part of a scenario that we can understand, and that is this: if all of our families had been warned of the coming wickedness, we would have been fleeing in groups that would have been easily tracked down and captured. The result would have been the same, except that He, and His family, would have been caught with us. We agree that that absolutely could not happen. You know why? We’ve been told it’s because He had to live – live a perfect life – until the time was right to do the most courageous thing ever that rescued us and brought us here. A perfect life! I know I never could have lived one . . . And what was the thing? How can I say this . . . should I say it? He took the blade that was meant for us . . . I said it and it’s good. It’s the truth. He looks at me and winks. He makes me so happy!

I’m back from my brief thought excursion. Something is about to happen! My attention is back where He told us to look, and there, coming from behind the trees, rounding the corner is a woman wearing blue and white linen. She is running gracefully as a deer, and as fast! Close behind her are many other women, also wearing beautiful linens, and close behind them are their husbands supporting them with shouts of encouragement. “Faster, loves! Faster! It’s our boys!

Oh my! That’s my mother out in front, and behind her is my father! I’d know her anywhere! Her name is Rachel and she’s looking right at me! I can’t contain my excitement and begin running, myself. I hear Jesus laughing loudly as I yell, “Come on, brothers, it’s them!”
I’ll leave the rest to your imagination, but, now, I must correct myself. I said there was never a dull day here. That’s true, but it’s not enough. There is never a day without unbridled joy here! Thanks be to the Father, and to Jesus!


The Deep Sleep of Sheep

Feed My sheep
Said He
As awareness increases day by day
The challenge to feed
The sheep
Is to bring awareness from out
The sleep
Is to cast subjective truth away
And to coax the shallow into
The deep

L S 10-22-22


Last Train Home

There is a song written by Pat Metheny, one of my favorite jazz guitarists/musicians/songwriters, called “Last Train Home”. I’ve listened to it many times, but I only heard it today. When I heard it, I knew what it meant to me. My eyes . . . I sort of . . . cried.

The relentless background beat was that of a hard-pulling steam locomotive. The beautiful melody, Pat provided expertly with his electric sitar. A touch of melancholy swept over me, then a sense of sentimental longing for something I can’t explain. You really must listen to an authentic version of this song to grasp what I’m saying. I can’t exactly explain it, but I had a sudden knowing of the song’s meaning for me
– and there was a soldier.

~ ~ ~

The soldier was nested softly in a grey blanket within a pinebox coffin covered by a colorful flag. The casket sat on its bier in a train car which was colorless except for the flag and some bunting around the top corners. The wheels of the car made ka-clackka-clack sounds as they moved over the joints in the track. And there was also a soldier.

This soldier stood at attention, overlooking the casket, at its foot. He held his rifle in both hands as though he was ready to use it at need. The long, narrow bayonet was fixed. I don’t know why. Just thought it would be a nice touch. The Major had commanded him to this duty, as he could spare no others. Guard. Escort. Reggie. His best friend since they were regimentally thrown together. They were from the same town, it turned out. Reggie was younger, weaker, and much more courageous than he . . .

Reggie had died by his side.

He’d badly injured his back carrying Reggie’s body over his shoulder, away from the battle. A tear formed. No! No emotions! I’m on duty! He listened to the distant incessant sound of the steam locomotive pounding out the beat as though trying to hammer the tracks flatter, smoother. The powerful sound of steam pistons and valves intensified as the engine tackled the hundred-mile incline to a higher region. Mountains. Home.

He’d been fortunate that the aged, but zestful, conductor sympathized with his plight. He resourcefully arranged an old car. This was the last train headed out for at least a week. He and Reggie would have had to wait in misery. Ka-clack-ka-clack, relentlessly. The last car on the last train home. Certainly the last train home ever for Reggie. He was the best of us all. It should have been me . . .

He suddenly realized that his finger was tightening on the trigger. No! There is no threat! Stand down! He had loaded his rifle against regulations and against reason. I thought it was a nice touch . . . He was committed to protecting sleeping Reggie. He began to shake. Was that cannon fire in the distance? He began to sweat. Oh, god, I never want to hear another cannonball explode! And rifles are for rabbits, not men . . .

Last train home. What of me? Reggie knew every meaning of home. He was deep and smart, and he tried to enlighten me. I couldn’t fathom much of it. Never had much family or home life, and I’m not deep . . .
He tried to tell me about God, too, but I pretended I wasn’t listening too hard. That must have hurt Reggie bad, but he didn’t show it. He liked talking about things like love, and home, and Jesus, and who he called Father God. I wish I had listened harder . . .

The roar of war increased in his head. Pain and loss. He stood his rifle against the wall and covered his ears with both hands. He felt lost inside his own being. Reflexively he cried out, Oh, God. (Make it stop)
He went to his knees, wrapping his arms around Reggie’s box, laying his tear-streaked cheek on the flag.
It was then that he felt the large, warm hand on his right shoulder. The hand that could not have been there, but was. And he heard the whisper that was not, but was saying everything he needed.

He turned and propped his hurting back against the bier, and he knew. He had been alive, but dead to all feeling. Empty of joy, love, and true life. Reggie was dead, yet fully alive in his memory, and what he remembered now was Reggie saying that Jesus died to make a way home for them . . .
A way home! Jesus Lives, and He is the way home! Jesus is the Last Train Home!

He stood, picked up his rifle, and resumed his watch. The roar was gone. The train’s engine spoke speed, and power, and determination. He looked at the coffin and felt peace. Old friend, I have a ways to go, but I’ll see you when I get there. This is the last train, buddy. We are going home!


I Am Sand

I am Sand
Sand, I am
Man of sand
The sand which
Largely lies piled
In the lower chalice
Of a cosmic time glass
An amper-sand glass
Sand sculpture above
Once elaborate
Flowing slowly from the funnel
Cone-like sand castle rising


I am sand
Sand, I am
Man of sand
Dust of the earth
In God’s large left hand
Held as sand sculpture
Fearfully and wonderfully made
Precious and pouring down
Into His right
Caught and held dear
Man of sand
Saved by Him
Not a grain lost
Not final
Everlasting in His hands


M.L.K. Wisdom and A Prayer From Francis of Assisi

(I wrote this piece a decade ago. Hatred has multiplied exponentially since then on many fronts, especially today, as we simply ask people to think about what constitutes murder, and the wrong in the shedding of innocent blood. Today, it has become fashionable for a faction of society to hate with a vengeance anyone who disagrees with their depraved ideology. I wish these people could understand . . . “don’t you know that friendship with the world is hatred toward God?” (James 4:4 ) When they violate their own “hate crime” laws, how should we respond to their insults, threats, violence, and terrorism? Dr. Martin Luther King, a leader whose principles most seem to have forgotten, had answers for all of us:  )

~  ~  ~

Like cockroaches coming out of the woodwork, an infestation of hatred is multiplying and invading contemporary society. I should say, it is appearing out of the darkness behind the woodwork of society. 

Notice how shining a bright light on those disgusting insects sends them scurrying back into the darkness. That’s how it is when the pure, cleansing, light of love sends hate back to its dark source – the enemy of our souls who thrives in evil darkness. Hate is so destructive, yet so enticing. What a great tool for him who seeks to kill our souls and spirits.
How do we fight it?
Hate them back?
Fight darkness with darkness;
trade evil for evil?

“Darkness cannot drive out darkness; only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate; only love can do that.”
~Dr. Martin Luther King

No, he is right,
We must end darkness,
But who has the light? 
Who can take away the place
Where hate lives,
Where evil hides?
Who has the power,
Who has the light?
Only Jesus, and, well, the one in the mirror,
The one facing you!
Yes, you,
If you would be free,
Pray this prayer of the man from Assisi:

Dear God, make me an instrument of your peace.
Where there is hatred, let me sow love;
Where there is injury, pardon;
Where there is doubt, faith;
Where there is despair, hope;
Where there is darkness, light;
Where there is sadness, joy;
O Divine Master,
Grant that I not so much seek to be consoled as to console,
To be understood as to understand,
To be loved, as to love.
For it is in giving that we receive,
It is in pardoning that we are pardoned,
And it is in dying that we are born to eternal life.

~ Prayer of St Francis.
These are extremely difficult concepts, but these are extremely difficult times.
However, we are:
Born to eternal life through Emmanuel our Savior!
Take heart! The dark one cannot abide this Light. 
Invoke His name! Jesus! Lamb of God! Almighty God With Us!
The evil one flees!


Straining To Reach Beauty

“We do not want merely to see beauty, though, God knows, even that is bounty enough. We want something else which can hardly be put into words—to be united with the beauty we see, to pass into it, to receive it into ourselves, to bathe in it, to become part of it . . . At present we are on the outside of the world, the wrong side of the door . . . We cannot mingle with the splendours we see. But all the leaves of the New Testament are rustling with the rumour that it will not always be so. Some day, God willing, we shall get in.” ~ C.S.Lewis

Isn’t he great?
I know what he means – I think.
But Lewis is right, it can hardly be put into words.
I want to be immersed in the beauty I enjoy with my senses.
I want to be baptized in it.
I want it to soak into me and heal the ache.
I want it to fill the voids of longing and loss.
I strain against my earthbound chains to reach it.
I want to revel in the pure joy of it.
I want to unite with it;
to be it.
Earthly beauty must be but a metaphor,
a poor representation,
of Heavenly beauty.
Did He not create it as a foretaste,
a tidbit,
a sampler of His own absolute beauty?
Ahh, to imagine how durably our spirits must have been created
to stand in His presence
and to bear the unutterable,
power and glory,
and beauty,
emanating from The Father and from Christ Jesus!
With each new encounter with beauty,
I strive;
I wrench and heave at my chains.
Little by little,
link by link,
they weaken.


Then, Realization, God Spoke To Me

Caught up in worldly troubles, I hadn’t been watching, I hadn’t been listening. My attention was not where it should have been. Everything has been going wrong, especially with my vehicles, and with my writing opportunities. In my frustration, I reached out for help. I was under serious attack!
Then one frustrating afternoon, the realization dawned on me that God had spoken to me that very morning. It wasn’t vocal. It wasn’t overt. It was through a very timely Scriptural reading which told me He would calm every storm if I but communicated my needs in prayer.
Next, he spoke by sending a close friend who guessed the exact-sized hole to drill in an essential auto part that had broken. The storm began to calm.
Then, when I was purchasing a part to fit the hole, He spoke to me about buying an obscure little part, having odd looking threads, that was hidden among others. It might be a possible backup part – it was an afterthought.
Soon, I was ready to tap threads into the formerly-mentioned hole, but the first part would not fit. The backup part might fit, I thought, but I didn’t have the proper tap. Oh, yes I did! It turned out that the cheap little tap-and-die set I bought a few days previous had a little die tucked away, almost hidden, in the corner of the case. That was perfect for the job! Amazing! God had spoken again . . .
And again, when I successfully performed, on the first try, a technique I’d never done before. The backup part, the little “afterthought” screwed in perfectly! The complex larger part was like new, restored and re-installed on the engine without a hitch, and works well. (Kind of like I was restored, He reminds me)
And again, when three friends came with tools, experienced hands, and good advice, to do the seemingly impossible to get my truck running.
They haven’t given up on the project, or me, to this day.
Oh yes, I mentioned my writing opportunities. Obviously, I am writing! I’m back! But not without fighting for it. Distractions, house problems, storms knocking out my internet for a whole day . . . He is calming those storms too, and I’m completing this post.
Dear reader, you might say “coincidence, all of it”, but I maintain my Father God is speaking to me. I’m certain, steadfast, firm, and I am “listening” now. Perceiving Him, discerning, watching, hearing, sensing Him near. And I am speaking back. It’s a conversation!
I believe that God is a personal God, not only in the sense that He is the ultimate “person“, but in that He longs for a personal relationship with each of us. Jesus’ earthly mission made that opportunity possible!
Personal relationships are of primary importance. We keep them alive by speaking to each other in all the various real and metaphorical ways. Sometimes the small things say volumes.
I believe God has a language of love tailored and tuned for our exclusive individual understanding.
Let God speak volumes to you!


Good Friday? Good Sunday! Resurrection Sunday!

    As time goes by, reading this well-worn post bothers me more and more. I don’t like talking about pain, torture, death, sacrifice, and heartache, but I need to face the truth. There is raw truth in what follows:

Today is Good Friday. This is the day of remembrance of how our Lord Jesus suffered the agony of torture and death for our great benefit. I can justify that name only with some mental gymnastics . . .
Like the criminal on His right, I believe some part of me hung there and died with Him that day – the darkest part that needed to be put to death – in order that I might be saved into eternal life and be with Him always. Like He spoke to that wretched, miserable, condemned and dying man, He still speaks to me, to us all, today through His Word, with labored breath, gasping one painful word at a time as if we are face to face –

“I   Forgive  You” “You  Shall  Be  With  Me  . . .” 

   When I stood accused of selfish sins and crimes that I knew I was guilty of, He, in effect, said to me as He stood there (weak, trembling, and covered with blood)  (and tears try to form as I say it) :

“Don’t worry, you’re “good”. Get behind Me. I love you too much to let this happen to you. I’ve got this.”

   I can’t help but feel His torture and death were my fault in a sense.  (My brothers and sisters argue that they share the blame, which may be true, but I maintain that, in a sense, I’m the most at fault)  He went ahead and saved me anyway. He went to the cross in my place. All He asked is that I repent (turn away from sin and toward Him) and that I believe in Him and proclaim Him as my risen Lord and Savior – so He forgave me that fault –  “It’s forgotten,”  He says, graciously.

What kind of Love? . . . I can scarcely fathom.
As the song says, “Love has a name,
And it is JESUS!”

   So, I don’t know about the “Good” part of Good Friday. I’m ambivalent, unsure.
It is also called Black Friday and Holy Friday, either of which I can relate to, especially “Holy Friday”,  but hardly Good Friday? Except that good resulted from it.
And, one can’t have a resurrection without a death, especially THE Resurrection following THE Death,
both of which rocked the foundations of the world, as did His birth. Everything about Him did!

   If anything should be called “Good”, it is Resurrection Day. What happened that day is the most radically important event ever in history (His Story) – “Good Sunday” if you will – the joyous day that I (we) returned to life and lived through Him, and had Life real and true because of Him, and through His return to life, His defeat of death, we were shown the true meaning of Love.

Resurrection, to me, is like “rebirth” – the return of life into something that was dead.

   I once again turn to Keith and Kristyn Getty, and Stuart Townend,  to express with music and images what cannot be expressed with words alone. I pray that every heart that hears and sees this will be broken, transformed, and renewed at the foot of that one horrible, and glorious, cross . . .

Thank you victoryinjesus123 for uploading this beautiful video.

Oh, and one more thing – the power of the cross is only the beginning.
The power of His victory over death lies at the doorstep outside the joyously-open doorway of His empty tomb! Let us each tread that step, leave our tombs, and embrace new life the way He showed us!

That hardly seems enough to say,
Yet it is heartfelt.
Father, I pray you help us LIVE those three words.



Happy CIAMC Day !

It’s here already! Where has the month gone?
I’m celebrating the second Christmas Is A Month Closer Day!
Let us sing and dance!

If you’re baffled, here is what’s going on:


One Month Closer

In mid-January, we took down all our Christmas/Christbirth decorations. I don’t like doing that as it seems the season always flies by faster than a reindeer. I remember feeling uplifted by the thought that each passing day only brings the next Christmas season closer.
By mid-February, tax filing, home improvements, and other projects pushed all thoughts of celebrating Christ’s birth out of mind. Last week, on February 25, I realized that two calendar months had already passed since Christmas. That was fast! Quickly doing the mental math, I realized there were only ten months left until next Christmas. Even less until Advent. It’s coming fast, so to mark the occasion I invented a new “day of observance”, CIAMC Day, or Christmas Is A Month Closer Day! I’m excited, because it recurs on the 25th day of each month except December! If you’re thinking my life is pretty boring, you’re wrong. I’m very seldom bored (I want to say never). It’s creative things like this that keep my mind active and keep me looking forward to the next celebration.
Mark it on your mobile calendar each month, if you feel like it, dear reader. It would be great if you celebrated with me! And, by the way, did you notice the two words in the acronym between “Christmas”, and “Month”? I AM ! Yes! There He is again, He is here, even in this small reminder!


Fading In

Today is Tuesday, 2-22-2022, and it is being called 2s day! I have to laugh! I have, unfortunately been absent from writing here on this, my beloved website, for most of nine months. Life things, world things, home things, had to be attended. I normally don’t write much during the summer anyway, due to being active and outdoorsy, but I’ve also lost an autumn, a winter, and, ouch, a Christmas writing season. I almost got depressed, not having the time to compose, or even rub two words together. But many pieces of work pressed on me, and I did “write things in my head”. They accumulated a kind of “pressure” that I must open the valve of writing to relieve. Here is one of them:


I’m getting old. My eyesight is dimming. I can no longer see “the world” as well. It is fading from my sight. My hearing is diminishing as well. Some frequencies are just gone! It was bound to happen. They, whomever they are, say this is normal and natural. Perhaps, but I do not like it  . . .

My strength, too, is fading. I can no longer lift heavy objects without pain. I cannot grip with power, nor can I throw things far. I am slower. I can no longer run far, or even walk as far as I once was able. I can no longer do the many wonderful things that, in my youth, I could do easily and do well.

Worst of all, my memory is fading in distressing ways. My once copious vocabulary is condensed into just a little more than essentials. I struggle to think of the right words when, not long ago, a large number of them were within my grasp on my mind’s menu. (It’s a destitution of words)
I thank God for internet dictionaries and thesauruses! 

Perhaps even my soul and spirit are beginning to fade from the world. Am I perceiving correctly?

I hope you haven’t given up and quit reading because it sounds like I’m complaining, and this is a very negative piece. Far be it, and God forbid, for I thank Him joyfully that I have made it this far up the road, and that He has allowed me to have this much left! His grace, and mercy, toward me abound!

And here’s the thing:

Sure, this world is fading from my sight, and my hearing, and there are artificial means to partially remedy that, but resistance is futile when all is said and done. However! It has been given me to reveal some good news! As my old world inexorably fades out, my New World is fading in, so to speak. Perhaps a better word for it is materializing. Or, being manifested. And, oh!, the wonders I am just beginning to see and hear! 

The new strength I’m just beginning to know, and my grasp of new things is germinating. I know now that there is a whole new vocabulary God has for me. Names and ways of description that never have been used in this old world. My soul and spirit being bound to a body in this physical plane are slowly and gently being untangled and freed. The “world” is fading in their sight as well, as a departing sailing vessel fades into the mist and emerges out of a mist to dock on the other side. Are they beginning to perceive the new body, and new world that will be theirs? 

As I ponder these things, I have peace. I’m learning not to fear. The last vestiges of fear are fading out, never to fade back in. The pain of fading out here is eclipsed and erased in the brilliant and glorious fade-in where Father God and Jesus are waiting to bring me, bring all true believers, the unfading complete perfection of sight, and sound, and mind, and body, and Love, and Life.



Observing Advent – Four Sundays and the Weekdays Between, With Steadily Increasing Hope, Joy, Love, Light, and Ultimate Peace!

First Sunday

“Advent” is here!
It is today!

All Creation is pregnant with anticipation!

This is the time of expectant waiting and preparation for the celebration of Jesus’ birth – the most unprecedented, and unequaled; the most earth-shaking event in human history!
(Well, depending on how you perceive it, it’s definitely one of the top two!)

The word “Advent” comes from the Latin “adventus” which means coming, or arrival, of a person or thing.

In this special and absolutely unique case,
what is coming is rich in mystery;
profound in its implications!
Excitement builds in Heaven and earth!

I find it interesting that the words “Advent” and “adventure” are so closely related, which is fitting since we are waiting and preparing for the arrival of  a series of awe-inducing, exciting events :

All that surrounds Jesus’ Nativity celebration,
A son is to be given,
700 year-old prophecy to be fulfilled,

The imminent arrival of Emmanuel, “God With Us”,
The Kingdom of God being established on Earth,
Reconciliation with the Father,
Renewal of all things,

Rescue of the perishing,
Redemption of souls,
Abundant life,
Signs and wonders,
Miraculous acts,
Great Joy will be made available to all people,
Messiah! Savior! Christ! He’s coming, 
alreadynot yet, and soon!
The image of The Father will walk on earth,
The advent of Love!
And more, and more, and more!
And, in the fullness of time, Jesus’ long-awaited final return!

When someone important to us is coming to visit, we know we must wait. Patiently or not. Before their arrival, we must prepare as best we can. Thus, we are waiting, and prayerfully preparing, not just for events, but for the arrival of the Personage without whom there would be no experience of exciting spiritual adventure, no exploration of mysteries unknown, no real and true experience of love and life whatsoever.

But for the birth of the little Lord Jesus, I could not live.
As He is born, so am I.
So are we all!

I wait and look forward to honoring His birth; to observing the amazing circumstances that surround it.
It has “happened” again and again in countless hearts and minds.
It is happening now in mine,
and will again, endlessly, with passage of time.

I ceremoniously light the first candle in the Advent wreath,
the candle of hope,

also, the first flame in my heart.

The expectant waiting and preparation of my heart applies not only to Christbirth,
but to Resurrection Sunday, Thanksgiving, and Jesus’ final return as well.
Advent is an important concept.
It is exciting, yet peaceful at the same time.
I want to make it part of me;
I want to live it.

Advent First Week

The first week of Advent is said to be concentrated upon the hope of the Savior’s arrival as supported by the Scriptures’ prophetic promises. There are several pertinent verses, but I chose this one :

“The days are coming,’ declares the Lord, ‘when I will fulfill the gracious promise I made to the house of Israel and to the house of Judah. In those days and at that time I will make a righteous Branch sprout from David’s line; he will do what is just and right in the land.” (Jeremiah 33:14-15).

O, Jesus, 
We await your sweet arrival!


Words and Music for Yesterday, Today, and Tomorrow
by Charles Wesley:

Come, Thou Long-Expected Jesus

1. Come, thou long expected Jesus,
born to set thy people free;
from our fears and sins release us,
let us find our rest in thee.
Israel’s strength and consolation,
hope of all the earth thou art;
dear desire of every nation,
joy of every longing heart.

2. Born thy people to deliver,
born a child and yet a King,
born to reign in us forever,
now thy gracious kingdom bring.
By thine own eternal spirit
rule in all our hearts alone;
by thine all sufficient merit,
raise us to Thy* glorious throne.

(*emphases, mine)

The hope that we children of God have is a confident hope,
an enduring and an eternal hope.

Peter tells us that the Child of God has
“an inheritance that can never perish, spoil, or fade – kept in heaven for you” (
1 Peter: 1-4 )

Advent Week Two

The second week of Advent is focused on peace.

Waiting becomes a bit more intense as we add the expectancy of
hope and peace in preparation for our Savior’s arrival.

 We light the second candle,
the candle of peace,

If not on our tables,
Then in our hearts.
And light increases.
It doubles!
We can hardly wait until the full light
of His glorious presence shines upon the world,
and also upon each of us!

For to us a child is born, to us a son is given, and the government will be on his shoulders. And he will be called Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace” (Isaiah 9:6).

Jesus is the only one that can bring peace with God.

Therefore, since we have been justified through faith, we have peace with God through our Lord Jesus Christ” (Romans 5:1).

And suddenly there appeared with the angel a great multitude of the heavenly host, praising God and saying: “Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace to all mankind upon which His favor rests!” Luke 2: 13-14

Here’s a song that is full of hope and peace,
And light too!

Advent Third Week

We are in the third and final full week preceding the joy-filled celebration day!
This week we savor the JOY surrounding His coming to live with us!
Emmanuel – here because of The Father’s love for all people.

In this third week, we also remember all the proclamations made about our coming Christ-child, our Messiah, our glorious Savior; proclamations by Isaiah, by angels, by Elizabeth, by Mary, by Zechariah, by more angels, and by many others.

Luke 2:9 Just then, an angel of the Lord stood before them, and the glory of the Lord shone around them, and they were terrified. 10. But the angel said to them, “Do not be afraid! For behold, I bring you good news of great joy that will be for all the people!

He is coming not to condemn those lost in the dark, but to give them a saving light.
What joy it is to know Him, having been one of those lost, and now having His light.
And what a joy it is to know the astounding love of The Father,
Who sent 
this generous gift of His Son!

(many thanks, Spadecaller, for the upload. Your art is moving!)

I light the third candle,
the candle of joy,
And light increases again.
Even the stars seem brighter,
and the moon waxes!
The candle flames have kindled
a fire of rejoicing in my heart!
I, the least of believers,

proclaim this joy, 
proclaim His glory,
(like it says in the header at the top)
And suddenly, we come to:

The Fourth Sunday of Advent
Today, December 24, 2017 (four years ago) is the fourth Sunday of Advent,
which also coincides with Christmas Eve.
We light the fourth candle – the love candle,
in my book, the easiest one to light in the heart,
for Father God loved us first, and then sent His Jesus
to enable us to fully love Him.
Love rescued and love reconciled!
This candle also signifies His presence.
The Advent season is all about expectant waiting;
excited, hopeful, waiting for the Baby’s presence!
We want Him to be born soon!
We want to see Him!
He seems so close,
The air is charged.
We can almost feel angels in the air.
The Spirit of God certainly presides over our village.
Everything is poised; miraculously in position.
Mary, her Baby, Joseph, shepherds,
angels – lots of angels!
Peace and joy are closing in.
Tonight is the Holy Night – Jesus Christ’s night.
The Advent of Christ is all but complete.

Are preparations perfect?
Is my heart ready for His arrival?
I find myself wishing that I could be better prepared,
And more ready,
He. Was. Born. Last. Night ! ? !
Could it be?
Yes, it is:

Christmas Day

And so, the season of expectant waiting is complete!
I light the largest, purest, center candle,
the only One left.

and the flame in my heart roars to life!
To life!
Hope is fulfilled!
In our Immanuel, our Jesus,
all prophecies and promises are now reality!

His name is Light of the World!
His name is Peace!
His name is Son!
His name is Love!
His name is Savior!
His name is King!
His name is Everlasting!
 His name is God!
His presence is good news, bringing great joy for all people!
His presence makes darkness flee!
The Light of the World has finally come!
And like so many believers,
so many bloggers,
I repeat the sounding JOY!

Joy To the World,
and Peace to ALL mankind!

Joy to the World, the Lord has come!
Let earth receive her King;
Let every heart prepare Him room,
And Heaven and nature sing,
And Heaven and nature sing,
And Heaven, and Heaven, and nature sing!

Joy to the World, the Savior reigns!
Let men their songs employ;
While fields and floods, rocks, hills and plains
Repeat the sounding joy,
Repeat the sounding joy,
Repeat, repeat, the sounding joy!

No more let sins and sorrows grow,
Nor thorns infest the ground;
He comes to make His blessings flow
Far as the curse is found,
Far as the curse is found,
Far as, far as, the curse is found!

He rules the world with truth and grace,
And makes the nations prove
The glories of His righteousness,
And wonders of His love,
And wonders of His love,
And wonders, wonders, of His love!

~   ~   ~
And yet,
it is not over . . .
I must stay prepared;
keep waiting expectantly;
with confident hope,
with all the peace, joy, and love, grace can provide;
The “second” Advent begins now,
And all Creation is pregnant with anticipation!





Hopeful Message for the First Week of Advent

The first week of Advent is said to be concentrated upon the hope of the Savior’s arrival as supported by the Scriptures’ prophetic promises. There are several pertinent verses, but I chose this one :

“The days are coming,’ declares the Lord, ‘when I will fulfill the gracious promise I made to the house of Israel and to the house of Judah. In those days and at that time I will make a righteous Branch sprout from David’s line; he will do what is just and right in the land.” (Jeremiah 33:14-15).

O, Jesus, 
We await your sweet arrival!


Words and Music for Yesterday, Today, and Tomorrow
by Charles Wesley:

Come, Thou Long-Expected Jesus

1. Come, thou long expected Jesus,
born to set thy people free;
from our fears and sins release us,
let us find our rest in thee.
Israel’s strength and consolation,
hope of all the earth thou art;
dear desire of every nation,
joy of every longing heart.

Mark E. Hunt devised a second, or middle, verse.
I like it and included it here:

Come to earth to taste our sadness,
He whose glories knew no end;
By His life He brings us gladness,
Our Redeemer, Shepherd, Friend.
Leaving riches without number,
Born within a cattle stall;
This the everlasting wonder, 
Christ was born the Lord of all.

2. Born thy people to deliver,

born a child and yet a King,
born to reign in us forever,
now thy gracious kingdom bring.
By thine own eternal spirit
rule in all our hearts alone;
by thine all sufficient merit,
raise us to Thy* glorious throne.

(*emphases, mine)

The hope that the child of God has is an eternal hope.
Peter tells us that the Child of God has
“an inheritance that can never perish, spoil, or fade – kept in heaven for you” (
1 Peter: 1-4 )



I Joyfully Announce A “Birth”

I’m pleased to be here to announce the birth of my new book.
But pleased is not enough.
I’m happy to announce it!
No, happy doesn’t quite do it either.
I joyfully announce the birth of my new book!

It’s my first paperback, and I’m like a kid who just 
received exactly what he wanted for Christmas!
No, I’m not like a child, I am a child – a child of God!
I am the ordinary, if not insignificant, young boy, remarkable only 
because I happened to be on the scene, and I was willing to 
give Him my plain little loaves of stories that He, Himself, inspired.
Along with the loaves, I shared some of the small,
but potentially nourishing, word-fishes I had in my lunch sack .
I hope, and pray, and have faith, that my Master
will multiply these light loaves and salty fishes, these stories,
as only He can do, that they might be 
“eaten”, digested, and otherwise put to good use
by any readers who might need spiritual sustenance,
might need a nudge toward The One
who can resolve and redeem all troubles.

Every single reader of my stuff is
loved, and cherished, and prayed for,
by yours truly


Glorystories: A Gloryteller Compilation by [Lenn Snider]

Find it here:



Prophet, I’m Not

But, although I’m not,
although it doesn’t seem one of my gifts,
through the H.S., I do know this:

Someday, somewhere, someone will,
by the most remote chance,
stumble upon,
trip over,
by happy accident,
or puzzling “coincidence”,
by a mysterious urging,
or mere curiosity,
read one of my stories,

one of my posts,
one of my poems,
one of my lines,
or one of my fabricated words,
and, quite unexpectedly, think:
Perhaps he’s onto something.
Perhaps God is real.
Maybe this points to Him.
Could this be a message from God?

Maybe there is Some One who actually cares.
A God Who loves.
One who creates,
and forgives,
and rescues,
and saves,
and transforms,
and is ever-faithful,

and gives undeserved favor,
and shows mercy,
and is present,
and gives joy with His presence.

“Perhaps” will become “possibly”,
possibly will become probably,
probably will become definitely,
definitely will become yes!,
and yes! will develop into the joy of a deeply personal relationship. 
Perhaps . . .
Perhaps you are that someone.
And perhaps I AM a bit of a prophet after all . . .



You’re Living On The Surface . . .


A repeat post I sense The H.S. wants me to put up.

Father, send this to someone who needs it.
Father, bless the need of the reader who reads it. Amen.

^~ ~ ~^

I don’t remember what mood or incident triggered this rather “different” drafting;
rather more outspoken, and opinionated, and, maybe, judgemental than my usual.
It is almost a rant – a departure from my normal voice, but I feel
that it was put in me for a reason; that it is a rant against the enemy,
and that a special someone will benefit by hearing it, and I pray
the Holy Spirit sends it where it should go:
To YOU – there is more of every good thing than you think possible,
more joy than you can imagine in a relationship with your
Creator who loves you dearly and wants you near.

    ^~ ~ ~ ~^

You’re Living On The Surface

I see you up there where my own self once languished,
Pleasure seeker.
(Never think that I arrogantly deem myself better than you,
For I have been you
And am you)
But at the same time,
This is how the Endteller said it would be;
That most would not see past their hands
Feel past their skins
Think past their morning coffee
Their all-day coffee-chased pills
Their evening intox
Giving themselves away in so many imaginative ways
Their narco-laced, caffeine-based,
Red-saffron blood-fed
Self-stimulated gorge
And surge
And purge

And urge
Huge, insatiable appetites whet
Tiny, urgent, skimming lives.

Food, drink, pleasure, weep;
Slather, blather, rinse, repeat.
Rat-race to anxiety,
Retreat into a fetal sleep.

Where Me, Myself, and I is a
meaningful relationship.

Loving only love is false.
Where the tee-vee is the mirror
And the mirror is queen,
Where desperation-devastation has the taste of sinn-amon
Stinking poison
Sin euphoria
Where life’s meaning wades in a shallow, muddy puddle
And no new taste
(sing this part to your favorite tune)
No new place
No new clothing
No new feeling
No new art
No new wine
No new toy
No new noise
No new bauble
No new ring
No new car
No new poem
No new scenery
No new skin
No new lie
No new anything can satisfy for long.
No new association is a satiation anymore
And even the plaintive inside voice
That says “there must be something more”
Is fading.
This is how the Endteller said it would be
Oh, Beautiful,
Oh, sad, lost, desperate pleasure seeker.
Oh youthful, doomed, nightmare dreamer.
And there’s no way out but more of the same
More of the same
More of the shame
More of the same…

The elusive answer is hiding in plain sight:
Awaken from surface sleep,
For morning awaits with gifts in her hands.
Transforming and new
For there is much more than you have seen or imagined.
Dive deep beneath the flotsam of an empty existence,
Dive deep to where Love Himself waits well beyond the shallows
Though you may not love Love yet,
There, in the depths where you are loved so intensely,
Is a start
Is your ransom
Is your beginning
Is your only hope
Dive deep, drown in Love
Oh, Beautiful, becoming, emerging seeker.
Astound the Endteller.
Dare the depths and be saved from the nowhere-place
The nothing-time
Of a surface-self existence.


“I Want To Meet The One Who Made This”

My dear reader, I’d like to convey a true story along with some thoughts:

In May, a certain man made his way to a campground in Rocky Mountain National Park. He considered this campground, the Moraine Park Campground, to be the “back porch” of a prominent mountain he had come to know and think highly of.
His camper was self-designed and self-built in the A-frame style. It was completely unique and some might say exceptional. Having been painted red, with silver, white, and blue highlights, the camper upon its aluminum trailer stood out and attracted a large amount of attention.
People would stop while driving past and inquire, “Did you build that?” Others would walk past and say, “That’s amazing!” A few would ask to take a look inside, at which time the man would gladly show them inside to take a look at his ideas and his handiwork. The man was glad that his camper prompted smiles and happiness.
The most memorable incident happened just after the man went inside his camper to put on a jacket. He had left the door slightly ajar and there came a knocking on it, along with a male voice saying, “Hello in there?”
“Hello, I’ll be right out.”
“So sorry to bother you,” came a female voice.
“No bother at all,” he said, opening the door to find a friendly looking couple at his doorstep.
“We are so glad you’re here! We have been trying to catch you home for two days and this is our last try before we have to leave.” Looking at her husband, she exclaimed, we just walked all the way over here hoping; “He just really wanted to meet the person who made this!”
“I’m glad you caught me, too! I’m so flattered! Can I show you around?”
They had a very pleasant conversation following the tour, and all parted with la
rge smiles.

The encounter made a lasting impression on “camper man” and he began to think. “They really wanted to meet me, and I’m glad to have met them. But I wonder why folks are drawn to seek out people who have made or done something special. By extension, folks seem attracted to others who possess special abilities, knowledge, wisdom, fame, celebrity, wealth, or power. Is it simply curiosity? Bragging rights? Hope that some of that “specialness” will rub off? A need to have their approval or blessing? To gain a friendly relationship with said person? An honest desire to give a bit of credit and praise to someone they deem deserving?” With that couple, he was certain that the latter two ideas had been involved.

So, those desires seem almost universal, and if that is true, why don’t more people seek out God? It seems like we all should naturally be drawn to Him! No other being has His abilities, knowledge, wisdom, fame, celebrity, wealth, and power. He is the Ultimate in all those things. Not to mention that He is the Ultimate Rescuer, Doer of Good Things, Lover of Our Souls, and Creator of All Things (especially us). I know the average person might have trouble believing
that Someone they can’t see not only exists, but loves them. They might have trouble believing they are created souls and not a cosmic accident. They might have trouble believing that when we stand in the center of such overwhelming beauty in the likes of our national parks, that He created that and all beautiful things. There was a time when I, I mean “camper man”, found all of it hard to believe, but the best thing he ever did was to seek That Guy, get to know Him, praise and worship Him, become friends, love and have an awesome relationship with The One Who sacrificed His own life to save mine because He loves me!

Camper man’s most fervent prayer is that every person follow their inner urgings and say:

I really want to meet the One who made this!



Long’s Peak Memoir – Adventuring With God


Chronicle of an epic journey up a high mountain –
“Yes, though I walk upon the narrow ledge
overlooking the Valley of the Shadow of Death,
I will fear no evil. I will hang on diligently,
step carefully, but I will not fear,
for You are with me.”
L. S. <

^^ ^ ^^


People who have read things I’ve written might have noticed my infatuation with metaphor. For me, the use of figurative language like analogy, symbolism, simile, allusion, allegory, and metaphor, creates mystery. It creates complexity, and depth of meaning. Jesus, Himself, was adept at using metaphoric parables in His own ministry to make difficult concepts understandable to His listeners.
In my mind, nothing seems to me more metaphoric of a person’s spiritual journey than the illustration of a path, or trail, especially one going upward. As for myself, a difficult hike or climb on a trail and route to the top of a very tall mountain is the epitome of that concept .
I’m not going to say “read this all – read to the end”. It is long. Parts may bore you, or bring up impatience. If that happens, please skip ahead. Find the parts that do you good. Find the poem at the end. Just know I’m grateful you’re here with me!

 ~   ~   ~

I once wrote a quick synopsis of my landmark adventure and posted it, but here, much later, I’m back writing in more detail on the same topic. I still think hardly anything is more metaphoric regarding one’s spiritual and physical journey through a lifetime than a long, difficult, arduous, joyous, successful, climb – a climb to the incredibly extreme, radically remote, impressively noble, summit of a majestic mountain.
   In the beginning, there is a goal, and to reach that goal there is a path, a trail, a way, which a hiker would be wise to follow in its windings, its ups and downs, its obstacles, its surprises, its challenges. Though the trail may be difficult, it is usually the best way upward through dense, cluttered forests, swampy places, chaotic boulder fields, and dangerous cliff edges. The trail maker/way maker intentionally builds bridges across impassable streams, and over treacherously deep crevasses, and dangerously impassible abysses. He skirts the worst obstacles and makes rock or log steps to decrease the difficulty of the ascent, and when the terrain really gets rough, where a definite trail is impossible, He marks the least dangerous routes, lest you get lost and find yourself in serious trouble. The metaphors are obvious.

I had never seen any mountains at all, first hand, let alone the spectacular Rockies, until I was about 23. That year I found myself in magnificent, huge, Rocky Mountain National Park looking up at Long’s Peak. Yes, both literally and figuratively found myself there, and also found that I was falling in love with that very special part of Creation, although it was unfortunate that I would not know our shared Creator for quite some time.

Forty one years later, at 64, after many, many skiing, hiking, windsurfing, camping and sightseeing encounters with my paramours, the Colorado Rocky Mountains, I found myself at the foot of that awe-inspiring mountain-of-mountains. My epitome of mountainhood! I was ready to introduce myself and begin an intimate relationship with her, understanding full well she would not be easy to get to know. Some said she was friendly, and quite hospitable. Others named her aloof, treacherous, and cruel. I had to find out for myself! My encounter with her would come to be the defining adventure of my lifetime.
   I must tell you that several years ago, in a miraculous encounter, I finally met her Creator. I recant. That was the beginning of the defining adventure of my lifetime! I am learning more and more about Him, and I long to get to know Him more fully. One good way to do that is through His creations. The benefits of that are astounding! The difference between belief and non-belief in the One Creator God becomes obvious, and affects, profoundly, the way life is lived, loved, and enjoyed.


More Fore-Words:

At 14,259 feet, Long’s Peak is the only “fourteener” in RMNP, the northernmost fourteener in Colorado, and the most prominent landmark for the vast surrounding area.

Why did I want to climb Long’s Peak?
Because it is there.  (Well, of course it is there, wow!)
Because I can, was my thinking before I knew what it would take. (Well, maybe I can. It’s within the realm of possibility.)
Because it kept looking at me. (I stared at the mountain and it stared back)
Because it is visible to me, day or night, wherever I go.  ( O^O )
Because I was getting older fast and wanted to do it while my legs, etc, still worked.
Because I wanted to see the top before the beaver-rat eats it. (It is sniffing at it right now. See it on the left slope, near the summit?)
Because it transmits a siren-song that resonates in my frequency. (It calls to me)
Because it somehow MADE me do it.


Things the attempt required :

Hours of research to determine what I was getting into and what to do once I did.
Good planning.  Mental conditioning.  Ummm, too many people die up there . . .
Good fortune (luck), or blessings.  Only 3 out of every 10 climbers who attempt the summit actually make it.
The proper equipment and clothing.
Adequate amounts of food and water.
Knowledge of alpine weather.  (It is predictably extremely unpredictable.)
Top physical conditioning.
Myself to hike 5.5 miles in the dark while gaining nearly 3,400 feet in altitude then climbing a difficult, sometimes highly exposed, 1.5 mile, nearly 1,500 vertical-foot  route to the summit. (“exposed” means a mistake results in serious death or injury)  :p
Good timing to be off the summit by noon to avoid lightning, rain, or snow-slickened granite.
Myself to avoid injury, especially foot, ankle, or leg injury.
Myself to avoid “summit fever” and be ready to turn back at any point due to adverse weather changes, or altitude sickness. (At 14,000 feet only 60% of sea level oxygen is available in each breath)
Myself climbing wearily and carefully down and somehow hiking back to ‘base-camp’. This is statistically the most dangerous part due to fatigue, exhaustion, weather concerns, and hypoxia.

~   ^   ~


I had officially started my quest to climb Long’s Peak, about six months earlier, in late March, when I finally decided to commit. Long’s Peak was calling! I had read many articles written by people, some who had succeeded and some who failed. Was I too old? Was it too dangerous? Could I get myself fit for the task? Could I learn everything I would need to know? A hundred questions. I decided No, No, Yes, and Yes! I would go ahead. From this point on, I would remain undaunted! It would be a very serious venture, but I’m a confirmed optimist, and moreover I was confident that God had my back. The Holy Spirit was, of course, supportive, and encouraging, and faithful.

My training involved walking extensively, hiking, playing lots of disc golf, working out on the recumbent bike, and using weight machines. I knew that there was no training like actually hiking at altitude on mountain trails, but this was the best I could do, and it would have to do!
   I sought purpose for the climb. I wanted to bring The Good News to someone while “on the mountain”, if possible, and not climb it only for my own pleasure. Surely God would back me in that!
I remember well the encounter I had with the Lord when I was walking the quarter-mile perimeter inside a large building. My right knee had been bothering me for several weeks. It felt like torn-meniscus pain. I asked God to heal it and take the pain away as I half limped along. “I will need this knee to work a hundred percent if I’m to climb up and spread the good news,” I pleaded. I was aware that my plea might have sounded like coercion, and wished I had thought of a better way to ask. Another half mile and it was hurting worse. “Father, what do I do?”
   “Keep going,” He plainly spoke into my spirit. I trusted that He knew something I didn’t, and I kept going. Normally, I would not have. I finished my two miles still in pain. I still had the feeling that I would be healed. Ibuprofen and prayer took me to bedtime. The next morning, I carefully stepped out of bed ready to limp to the bathroom. I was taken aback! The pain was completely gone! I remember it well. I was full of thanks and praise all that day. Amazingly, to this very day, the “meniscus” pain in that knee hasn’t come back anywhere nearly as intense and persistent as it was before that night. Another miracle – I’ve experienced quite a few – and I then knew that He had a plan and purpose for my trip. From then on, I was able to train intensively. I spent a lot of time doing extensive research and hiking the route in my mind. The Father had my back, indeed!


A Side Trip

When thinking of plan and purpose, I was reminded of a hike I had taken a couple of years before, when God placed me right where I was needed.
I wanted to reach Emerald Lake, one of my favorite lakes high in Rocky Mountain National Park using one of my favorite trails. I was excited to use that trail because it offered an excellent view of the west face of Long’s Peak and, in addition, it skirted the banks of two other scenic lakes on the way to the third, Emerald, which is higher than ten-thousand feet in elevation. I needed to hurry because my family was waiting for me, so I ran where possible, and jogged, and just walked fast up any crude steps I found. I was in good condition for a 60+ “flat-lander”. Getting enough oxygen, however, was a challenge!  As I ascended, I stopped long enough to view Long’s several times, but suddenly was aware that a hiker up ahead was descending very fast. He looked worried as he ran past. After several minutes, I overheard a group of hikers talking about what sounded like a serious matter. I asked and was told that an elderly man had collapsed on the trail up ahead. He seemed to be having heart problems. I kept going at a fast pace, and soon I heard in my spirit, “pray for that man”! I did! With compassion and empathy, I did! I passed the beautiful Alberta Falls, and after some time had passed, a park ranger wearing a large backpack came running up the trail. Not far behind her were several more, actually running with a large, one-wheeled gurney. I was thoroughly impressed! “Pray for them too”, I heard.
I kept running, jogging hard, and hurrying upward, stopping to catch my breath and taking every advantage to admire the valley below, Glacier Gorge, and the awe-striking views of Long’s and Storm Peaks, as well as Pagoda and Chief’s Head farther to the south. Long’s is a mountain with “many faces”. From the Bear Lake area and Glacier Gorge, the north and west sides, the top of the majestic mountain looks roughly cubical – a massive block of granite. From the east or south sides, the peak looks pointed.
Soon I was within sight of the young rangers gathered around the gurney which now held the man whom they had placed upon it. They waved me on as I slowed with intention of saying an audible prayer for the guy. They were not going to allow it. I wasn’t surprised. “Keep praying, especially for them – they don’t know Me yet,” I heard. After passing by Nymph and Dream Lakes, it wasn’t long before I reached Emerald. I ate a snack, took photos (one of the selfies appears at the top, right-hand corner of my blog), admired the beauty of all the surrounding Creation, and thanked My Creator for placing me there in the center of it. Across the lake was the astounding chunk of granite which forms the East Buttress of Hallett’s Peak. I noted that Hallett’s would be a good mountain to climb one day, which aspiration I have since been blessed to complete with my son.
My family was waiting. I had made “good time” on the way up and expected to do better on the way downhill. I slipped into my pack straps and headed down, continuing my prayers and having conversations with my Lord. I didn’t stop to gawk except to rest briefly and catch my breath. About two-thirds of the way back I saw the group of rescuers stopped next to the trail. They had an I.V. going and were adjusting things for the man who was still alive, praise God. I slowed, again with the intention of encouraging the man with a prayer if he wanted it. Once again, I was waved on, this time with a few angry glares. I was only an intruder to them. They didn’t understand. I forgave. I started down a steep slope and noticed a little elderly lady standing by herself at the bottom. I’ll never forget her standing there in her white long-sleeved knit shirt and blue jeans, her hands clasped in front of her chest, looking up at “the rescue”, with an anxious look on her face.
“Hello. Do you know the man up there?”, I ventured as I approached her.
“He’s my husband.”
“Oh, ma’am, I don’t know if it means anything to you, but I’ve been praying for him for more than two hours.”
She got a strange look on her face. I thought “Oh no, not a believer” . . .
Time stood still, but then she said, “I have too, and I was hoping someone else was. We are Christians too. Thank you so much!”

“My pleasure, I think he’s going to be alright, God is with him and He’s with you. He loves you two! I’d be glad to stay with you on the way back.”
“I’ll be alright now. God provided me the word I needed and you’ve been a faithful brother to us. Please keep praying as long as you can. Thank you so very much!”
I was elated the rest of the way back, and I was fulfilled. I had been where I was needed, place, time, ready to pray, have compassion, and provide encouragement using His strength not my own. Plan and purpose!
Alright, story within a story, a little lengthy but relevant. Glory within glory!

~   ^   ~


By September, I was in good physical and mental condition. My feet and legs felt great. My back, which had undergone serious lumbar surgery a decade before, was ready for a moderately heavy backpack. My cardio-pulmonary system was strong, and I was optimistic and confident.  I chose mid September for the climb because the chances of good weather were better and all the snow had melted from the peaks that year. That’s a bit late in the season, but was the best I could do that year. Snow or rain on slick granite can be deadly, and some of the granite was reportedly already shiny from the wear of thousands of shoes. In addition, the summer rush would be over, and traffic on the routes would be much less. Rockfalls caused by careless climbers, especially in “the Trough”, should be much less of a danger. Most importantly, I felt strongly that I was supposed to be doing this.

Among the things I learned about, and that were essential to know:
Alpine weather – how it can change radically from blue sky to a lightning storm in fifteen minutes. There is no protection from lightning above treeline. People are killed by it every year just in the park, thus one needs to begin the trek at 3:00 am or earlier in order to be back down close to timberline by noon to avoid the almost daily afternoon storms.
Wind conditions can change quickly and gusty winds can be deadly at high altitude. People have been blown right off the mountain to their death.
Physical and mental health – The body needs to be in top condition. Just to reach the “boulder field” requires a hike of more than five and one-half miles and a gain in altitude of about 3,500 feet, then the real hard stuff begins. When the summit is reached, you are only halfway home. It seems counter intuitive, but the climb down and the hike back are statistically the most difficult and dangerous part. Exhaustion, fatigue, and the constant pounding on already taxed joints can cause dangerous missteps. Mentally, one needs to know what to expect, and how to pace oneself, and when to turn back if conditions warrant it. Fear has no place in a place like this, but concentration, focus, caution, and respect for nature’s whims are essential.
Dehydration is a huge concern and is believed to contribute to altitude sickness. Carry plenty of water and drink constantly even when not thirsty. Also carry light and portable food such as energy bars to keep carbs up and stay fueled.
Rockfalls – both natural and caused by climbers, can be deadly. Should I wear a helmet?
Altitude sickness can be deadly up there. Only 60% of sea level oxygen is available above 14,000 feet. Headache, nausea, dizziness, loss of energy, and irrational behavior can have dire consequences, not to mention a case of deadly pulmonary edema. If a person doesn’t get back to lower altitudes quickly when those symptoms arise, it could mean “worst-case-scenario”. These symptoms can happen to anyone at any time when “at altitude”. Ibuprofen is said to help stave off altitude sickness. I took one when starting off and one every 4 hours decreasing the interval when I got to 12,000 feet. I reasoned that its anti-inflammatory effects alone would be beneficial for my whole body.
Proper clothing, footwear, and supplies. Layers of clothing like I wear for skiing. New hiking shoes with good “tread” for sticking to slick boulders, sturdy, yet lightweight. Two Camelback (bladder type) water reservoirs with sipper tubes. They each hold about three liters. Rain gear. Spare socks. Sunscreen. Anti-UV lip balm and sunglasses.
Know the route. I would be using the Keyhole Route, which would require, a 15 to 16 mile round trip. That’s a long way to walk under the best of circumstances. It is essential not to get lost or off route, which might lead to putting myself in great danger.

~ ^ ~ ^ ~ ^ ~

The Adventure

I drove nearly 1,000 miles to Colorado. I once lived much closer and was able to make many more trips up there in all seasons.
In Boulder, I bought an expensive new pair of name-brand hiking shoes which had nice “grippy” soles. They were expensive, but turned out to be lifesavers.
Camping in the Long’s Peak Campground in Rocky Mountain National Park near Estes Park was my plan. I found a nice campsite, there being an off-season lack of many other campers. Being at 9,400 ft. at the foot of the trail for several nights would be a perfect way to acclimate to the extreme altitudes at which I would be hiking. I’ve never had problems with altitude, but this climb would take me at least 3,000 feet higher than I’d ever climbed.
The temperature hovered around freezing at night and 60 degrees during the day. I did two warm up hikes of about four miles round-trip each on Sunday and Monday. I was sweating wearing summer hiking clothing. I planned to attempt the top very early Wednesday night/Thursday morning.

As it turned out, weather was going to be the deciding factor for deciding when to set out for the summit. Choosing my launch time was more difficult than I expected. I walked up to the station and talked to the rangers several times. They told me that the local weather was unpredictable enough, but the “fourteener” had what might be termed its “own weather”. The local weather stations predicted a low pressure system and a cold front that was due early Thursday morning. That meant possible rain, snow, and high wind on the mountain, any and all of which could be extremely dangerous. To increase my chances of success, I made the decision to move up my departure time by 24 hours. I would begin Tuesday night (early Wednesday morning) and be back Wednesday afternoon.

Tuesday evening I packed up. I double and triple-checked my gear and supplies beside the campfire. I would sleep in my 3-person dome tent in my nice warm sleeping bag and leave at 3:00 am Wednesday, which would give me about six hours of sleep and plenty of time to reach the summit by 10:00 am, after which there was a greater risk of storms and wind.

Well, “best laid plans of mice and men” . . .  I was completely awake before 1:00 am, gaining less than four hours of sleep. Not ideal, but I have performed well on less. There was nothing to do but get going.
With a prayer and a pack full of optimism, I took off at 1:30 am Wednesday, September 14, 2011. The air was cold – just above freezing, and I hiked with a heavy pack (at least, for me it was) into the wilderness. Under the nearly-full moon and glittering stars, for the next 5 1/2 hours until daybreak, I gained about 3,500 feet in altitude, and 5.5 miles in distance before I reached the flats leading to the Boulderfield Campground.

On the winding uphill forested trail, at treeline and beyond, He was with me, helping me upward. He had been close for the past 6 months through all my preparations and “training” for the challenge. Almighty God was taking me to the top! He filled me with elation, and with joy, because He filled me with His presence! We conversed in a way unique to us!
If I were to write down all my thoughts, perceptions, and emotions, there would be enough content to fill a large volume. I will only chronicle the high points here.

My flow of consciousness went something like this:

      “First sign the log book in the kiosk near the ranger station, not only to record my attempt but to tell what time I left and hopefully, returned. I’ve heard they don’t check it often, but a late rescue is better than none at all. That formality is done, and it’s time to do a mental checklist of everything I’ve brought with me as I begin my ascent up the slope with many wooden steps. Not too fast, now, don’t get too excited. Adjust my headlamp to light the trail about ten to fifteen feet ahead.
How easily I forget to pray. Lord, I open myself to constant prayer. Constant interaction. Let my every step be a prayer. Let each plant of my hiking poles punctuate Your praise. Let your wisdom come to me like second nature – first nature! Indeed!
Stay hydrated, keep sipping  water. Pace yourself. There’s the Eugenia Mine Trail turnoff that goes up to Estes Cone. I should do that hike someday!
Log bridges and rough plank bridges crossing rushing mountain streams. Maybe I should count them. Larkspur Creek and Alpine Brook if memory serves.
About two hours of steady increase in altitude, time to fuel up with a granola/energy bar. Feels good to take this pack off, rest my legs. Turn the lamp off. Enjoy the clear night sky. The bright moon. The sharp, crisp stars, like the sharp, crisp air. The Milky Way like a sparkling sash across the heavens. Too long! Get going before the muscles get cold.
   Almost to treeline. Trees much shorter. Trail more rocky. Sometimes have to pick my way carefully through them, don’t want to twist an ankle. I see hikers way up ahead and higher in altitude, their headlamps moving very slowly. Maybe a mile ahead? Up on the side of Mt. Lady Washington and moving to the right, which is roughly north.
The air is, thankfully, almost still, and I only have half my available layers on. Treeline is about 2.5 miles up. I’m at about 11,000 feet now and I’m surprised at how quickly the transition from forest to Krummholz (stunted, deformed vegetation), to only small plant life, occurs. Without trees in the way, I can easily see the lights of Estes northeast of here. A little higher and I can see Boulder, and there is the massive glow of Denver to the south.
One drawback of having to do this section in the dark is missing out on the jaw-dropping scenery I knew was ahead. The crags between Meeker and Long’s. The “Beaver”, the Notch, the Diamond Face. Not able to take pictures. Hopefully, I’ll get a chance this afternoon on the way down. Keep sipping water, it’s easy to forget when you’re not even thirsty.
I’m starting to feel the weight of my backpack. It’s good that it’s getting lighter, the more water I drink. Suddenly I’m reflecting on the last three hours up the incline – how I’ve never felt closer to You, Father.
Your presence is like the steady hum of “telephone wires” in the wind. That memory is from my youth, more than fifty years ago. I always wondered why they hummed. Now, phones are wireless and they also play music.
   Now I hear the happy “music” of the mountain streams in murmulation (my own word) beside the trail down in the forest. Your companionship is like that. You are a constant happy stream of goodness, kindness, love, wisdom, and strength flowing through my soul. Perceived by my mind and transferred to my body, arms, legs. Connecting me to the path and all Creation under my feet. I delight in this close communion with You, Lord. I wish everyone would seek it.

   Back in the woods when I was taking a short break, a guy passed by. He was moving fast. I was eager to promote Your name and I said something like “God bless your trip to the top.” He kind of grunted a quick “yeah”. O’ Lord, please send by people who need encouragement, who need to know You are with them. I want to fulfill the reasons You have for bringing me up this mountain! I want to proclaim You in the flesh, as well as in writing at Gloryteller, for You are indeed glorious!
Enjoy the heavens, soon the majesty of the night sky will be hidden.
I’ve been hiking for about three hours. Was hoping to make close to 2 miles an hour on this first leg. That’s easily my pace at home. I’m doing a little more than one mile an hour. The incline, decreased oxygen, and weight of this pack must be slowing me down, and I am stopping for rest breaks once in a while.
The trail has been flatter for the last half hour, but now there is a steeper slope up to the junction.
And here’s Chasm junction! Take a quick look at the sign in the beam of my lamp and follow the Long’s Peak arrow. The trail turns a bit to the right. I’m more than halfway to the Keyhole, but it’s still around five miles to the summit.
I just know there is some great scenery that I can’t see! The trail is steeper and rougher. I need to watch my footing because of rocky obstacles to negotiate as well as the smaller fist, to football, sized rocks that can flip or roll if they’re stepped on wrong. I call them “rollers”. Ha! Rocks and rollers!
Now it’s about a mile across the side of Mt. Lady Washington up to the saddle between her and Battle Mountain. The incline is not too steep, but there are lots of obstacles – large rocks – that need to be carefully stepped up and over and between. I need to pay attention to where I’m stepping. I’m headed northwest on the flanks of Mt. Lady Washington. I like saying that, it makes me feel clever. I doubt many people would see it that way, haha.
Just a steady increase in altitude.

I think I can see where the saddle is, which is named Granite Pass, up ahead. It’s the lowest and best place to cross the ridge that leads to the boulder field. Lord, You still there?
Of course!
Sorry, I tend to get wrapped up in where I am and what I’m doing.

That’s alright, those things are necessary!
      Granite pass! I did that last mile a bit faster. 12,000 feet up! 5:30 am. Four and a half miles in four hours. I think I’m stopping too much, haha. This pass is not only a milestone on the climb, but one in my life. My previous highest hike was to Emerald Lake, about 10,100 feet in elevation. Oh, remember you’ve been close to 11,000 feet on cross-country skis two or three times. That was near Breckenridge. What fun times back in the days of Telemarking on the slopes of Summit County, Colorado!

Now we get down to business . . . here begin the six or seven switchbacks that lead to the boulder field of Long’s Peak. Another mile and a half to the campground. The trail turns sharply to the left, from northwest to southeast and heads around the north end of The Lady. Again, I feel a personal humor. But she will laugh best, as this first incline is taking my wind! I stop to catch my breath many times! For the first time I feel as though this is an ascent rather than a mere hike.
I’m getting behind schedule, too, though when I stop, the views to the east and the peaks of the Continental Divide to the northwest are astounding. It is just beginning to be light enough to see them. A great distraction from the demands of this section. And it’s colder here. A cold breeze hitting my face. Go twenty yards and stop to breathe. Repeat. I’m really breathing hard. Take this hoodie off, I’m sweating. Getting a slight headache, time for another ibuprofen, and keep sipping water. The boulder field shouldn’t be far.
Finally, there it is! A sudden transition to a large, flat-ish, very gently sloping area covered with rocks – the boulder field! The sun is finally peaking up. I wonder how much the altitude affects sunrise up here. It seems much earlier. Time to turn off my headlamp and stow it in the pack. Did your job well, but won’t be needing you again today! The hairpins took my breath away, but this is truly breathtaking in a literal and figurative sense! The trail is mostly gone and there is hardly a place to set my feet that doesn’t involve an encounter with a rock. It will probably be this way all the way to the top. This is my first view of the western sky and I’m glad to see that it is blue with very few clouds in the direction the “weather” comes from. I need to adjust and find the safest and easiest route up to the campground. Do some rock-hopping and also skirt some hazardous places. The top part of Long’s Diamond face is in view! Beautiful! The summit is directly above it. I’m surprised that this section is so expansive. Different than it appears the pictures. There’s the Keyhole. It looks tiny from here, but I know it’s large. Everything up here is large. There is Storm Peak to the right of the Keyhole. I ascended about 700 feet in the last half mile. This place is more than 12,700 feet up! I’ve gained 3,300 vertical feet. I’m amazed at our ongoing conversation, and I’m amazed that you are letting me do this, Father – not only letting me, but encouraging it, enabling it, strengthening me!
This is truly the alpine zone where there are only relatively small clumps of alpine plants growing. They are green, and I can spot a few flowers at the tail end of their season. I’m seeing cute puffball pikas, little squeakers running about gathering and storing food for the fast approaching winter. I read that they dry the grasses and wildflowers on the sun warmed rocks before storage, to prevent mold and rot. They are not rodents, but are related to rabbits! Oh, and there is one of the ever present marmots . . . and another. Whistle pigs! They are rodents and these must be some of the last outside the den before hibernation.
Making good time here on the flat. Less than a mile between the switchbacks and the Boulderfield Campground. Almost there. Getting a good view of The Dove, a large, flying bird-shaped snowfield on the side of the mountain to the lower left of the Keyhole. For a dove, it has a freakishly long tail, but it is a beautiful snow-white. There’s the Agnes Vaille Shelter just under the Keyhole. I’ve done this so many times in my head, it’s almost like I’ve been here before, but that was the figurative version – I’m so fortunate to be experiencing all this literally, first hand, here and now!
There’s the famous Boulderfield Campground, I can see the two privies! I wonder if anyone is camping there . . . Yes there is a tent. The rocks are getting thicker and larger. As I approach the campground, perhaps I should make my presence known. I’ll make my pole plants on the rocks a little more pronounced. I need to find out what, if anything, God wants me to do with this person. I haven’t seen anyone else for a couple of miles. I’ll stop here, three or four yards from the tent. Man am I tired! Not exhausted, though.
The tent flap was being unzipped. “Hey, good morning,”  a young man poked his head outside.
“Yes, it is!” I was removing my pack and gloves.
“I guess you’ve been hiking half the night, huh?”
“Sure have. I left at 1:30.”
“Hi, how are you?” A young woman’s face appeared beside the man’s.
“Great! Tired! This place is awesome! Are you guys going to the top this morning?’
“Yes, we are excited! Ready to get warm, that was a cold night!”
Time to debate with myself. Do I wait for them or continue to solo this peak as I planned? Some company would be nice, and what if I got injured? Their assistance would be valuable. I saw two guys crossing below The Dove, going south to view the Diamond Face I assume. They are the only other people up here that I know of. And what of my purpose and wishes to spread news of the Lord up here? Is this couple part of your plan, Father?
“Of course, everyone is!”
That debate only lasted two or three seconds, now I hear myself saying, “Can I tag along with you? Unless you were planning a private time of climbing to the top by yourselves. I don’t presume to intrude.”

“Absolutely! We’d be glad for the company and the help,” they agreed, with smiles. “I’m G., the young man is saying, and this is my wife, K. . Just give us a few minutes to get ready.” They were both extremely pleasant and we quickly became new friends. Coincidence? I think not! I need to head for the much needed privies. This itself is a challenge as it is somewhat of an ascent over boulders.
I’ll sit here on this rock wall and rest while they get ready and eat a pair of energy bars. Drink some water. Have an ibuprofen. And a banana. I got here at about 6:45. Five and a quarter hours to go 5.5 miles. Previously I’ve only gone four or five miles per hike. I’m setting personal records here! This is like three hikes in one day. My brother and I once did a ten-miler mostly above 9 – 10 thousand feet, but it took two nights and two and a half days because we camped, and I was a lot younger then.
My sense of wonder is going wild. This place is ethereal. Like a completely different world. I look up at the Keyhole and the Agnes Vaille Memorial Shelter. They are only about 0.4 miles away according to the maps, but look farther. And higher. The slope of boulders is steeper and the boulders larger.  Much different from this angle than in the photos of others. The Keyhole is around 13,000 feet up – from here, kind of like climbing a 240 foot ladder. A little intimidating when I remember talking to some men my age who had attempted the summit two days ago and decided to turn around at the Keyhole because of exhaustion. Not surprising. More than half the people who attempt the summit turn back before they reach it. And more than fifty people have died up here, but I’m still undaunted. I’m going to join the thousands who have succeeded! I feel like I can do this!
I really would like to climb that big sloping rock pile to the south and take a look at that massive east rock face of Long’s. The sun is shining on The Diamond so pretty and making it look a brilliant rusty red. Now that’s a rock wall! Maybe another time. I need to be conservative. Keep the primary goal in mind.
They must be eating breakfast and packing up. I’m getting cold. Put on the hoodie, there’s a slight breeze and it’s chilly. I hope the wind stays down up in the Keyhole and beyond. Wind on the Ledges and especially the Narrows could be a trip killer. Okay check supplies. I should ditch some of this water. I started with close to one and a half gallons – more than twelve pounds – and it looks like I drank a little over two quarts, four or five pounds. I think I’ll take only two quarts up. Remember, lots of water helps stave off altitude sickness . . . I still think that will be plenty, and I’ll save four or five pounds of weight. Significant! I’ll just transfer some from one hands-free bladder to the other and leave that here along with my poles. They will be of no use for scrambling.
Okay, I have my wind back, a few minutes has stretched out to forty, and I’m eager to go. I’m on the edge of getting stiff with cold muscles. Need to do some stretches. Now we are ready to set out and it’s 8:15 am. That should give us plenty of time to summit and get back here at my target of 12:00 to 12:30. That would get us back down to treeline by about 1:30 to give some protection from possible afternoon lightning storms. There’s very little shelter up here on “the rock”. Here goes – two miles of tricky, dangerous, exhausting scrambling, climbing, route finding, and gaining another 1,500 feet in altitude. I’m ready! Let’s go!
I’m stepping from boulder to boulder, leaping at times. Some of the largest are as big as refrigerators and cars. Other smaller rocks are kind of “tippy” – watch your step. These grippy shoes are great on these granite rocks! I’m having to stop for breath more often. This section is harder than I thought it would be. Following the cairns and piled up rock markers helps some. Now it’s really getting steep. I’m scrambling with both hands and feet. Heading for the shelter out of curiosity. There are huge slabs of granite on each side of the Keyhole formation, itself being composed of a thick jutting slab that seem to hang out impossibly far. Kind of reminds me of a lion’s head, or a warrior’s face. Breathing hard, I’ll go into the shelter and sit down for a minute. Take a picture out the door. Fantastic shot of Storm!
   Eat an energy bar. Breathe. They went a little farther to the right and are going through the Keyhole. There is Storm Peak just to the north, and way down there is the campsite. Just a dot of color. That leg took much longer than I expected. Load up. A short scramble and I’m through the Keyhole. Making it this far is an awesome accomplishment in itself! Thank you God! Standing directly under the many tons of rock just cantilevered there has an element of danger. What are the chances of it letting go right this moment? I’ll not tempt fate, haha.

The view down the back side of the ridge is spectacular! We are in a jumble of boulders that look down on a very steep drop-off that ends way down there in beautiful Glacier Gorge. There’s Mills Lake to the north, been there, and Black Lake, Blue Lake, and Frozen Lake. There is Spearhead, McHenry’s Peak, Chief’s Head, Pagoda and the top part of the Keyboard of the Winds. We need to take lots of photos of the scenery, of each other, and of each other with the scenery! We are all elated to be here, but we need to get moving. The sky to the west is an amazing blue with a few white clouds. I’m back down to my windbreaker.
We are really on the west side of the mountain now, the back side I call it. We need to scramble between and over some boulders to get to the route. I’m saying “This is where the Summit Team begins to rock!” They politely laughed in agreement, and then we looked at the amazing view across the dangerous half-mile traverse called the Ledges. There are four demanding sections to negotiate in the next mile and a half to the summit, with lots of class 3 scrambling and some serious exposure. Exposure means a slip, misstep, loss of balance, or mistake could mean serious injury or your demise.  There are several places where a misstep, a trip, or a slip could result in a fall of several hundred feet.  I prayed for us constantly and He gave me the ability to concentrate, focus, make good decisions, and problem-solve, all of which I have trouble with in the lowlands. Hahaha!

The route requires lots of scrambling. It runs along the top of a slope which falls steeply down to the right and there is more or less of a back slanting wall on the left. I see some bullseye route markers ahead. Bright yellow circles inside bright red rings. We need to follow those rigorously. Getting off route here can bring serious trouble. About halfway I can see The Trough which is a “couloir”, a steep narrow gully. When I skied all the time, we called that an “avalanche chute”, and joked that the word couloir was French for “frozen ravine of death“. Here is the big block of rock that forms an obstacle that must be negotiated to proceed farther. There are steel rods that the Park Service has drilled into the boulder as hand-holds. It would be much harder without them, and I feel a bit exposed here. This is where climbing companions helping each other is a comfort.
Now I see the part of the route that slopes downward before it meets the Trough. Now we are in that French ravine, and it is every bit as daunting as it’s reputed to be. Much of it is talus covered, and it has been described as a “scree field”. We are taking some breaks together and conversing. Now I’m below my mates, so I need to stay to the side where I won’t be hit if they dislodge a rock. It is steep and there are lots of loose rocks and I surely want to avoid getting hit in the head or any other part, for that matter. That’s the nice thing about this time of year though, can you imagine what it would be like if dozens of inexperienced people were kicking through here and every few seconds you hear “Rock!“, meaning that something deadly is bouncing uncontrolled at a high rate of speed toward someone below the shouter.
There doesn’t seem to be a way straight up, I’ll need to route-find and wind my way up. Stopping to catch my breath more often, but I do like this kind of climbing, and . . .  ugh, something’s wrong . . . I don’t feel so well . . . weak . . . dizzy . . . headache . . . nausea . . . altitude sickness! It hit so quickly – without warning. Never had it before. I feel like I “hit the wall” and can’t go on. Fatigue. Drained. I’m done. Shoot! I need to turn back according to everything I’ve read . . . So dejected . . . having gotten this far . . .

Just breathe a minute. Bend down and get some blood to your brain,” I heard The Voice say.
After a few minutes, I’m not panting so hard. Nausea and headache abating some. Dizziness too, that’s a really bad thing to be up here – is dizzy!

“Hey, are you alright,?” my two partners are asking, not being very far from me. “You look a little pale, do you need some help?” 

“I just ‘hit the wall’, but I’m starting to feel better. Thanks, just give me a minute . . .”
I don’t remember reading that A.S. can pass quickly, but it seems to be passing. I feel much better. Drinking water and taking another ibuprofen. It’s about time anyway. All symptoms fading, and the depressive dejection as well.
The whole episode was only five to ten minutes, Thank You, gracious Father, Thank You! I’ll continue with You . . . cautiously.
There are some tough scrambles. We’re boosting and pulling each other up. It is slow going and, I just looked, and we’ve been on the Ledges and Trough for over two hours! We did stop to take some photos . . .
I’ve been praying constantly for myself and more earnestly for my companions. I do not want to see one of them get injured or worse. Could that be part of my purpose up here, to intercede for them?
Twenty minutes ago, I noticed a lone figure way down below us. He was ascending quickly up the gully. Now He’s passing us. It’s good to exchange pleasant greetings up here. He’s the only other person we’ve seen up here. Now he’s climbing over the large boulders up ahead. He appears to be in very good condition! And here I am having to stop and catch my breath all the time!
Finally we’ve come to where we need to ‘scramble’ over the large obstacles at the top of the Trough. The Narrows beckons.
As soon as we top the final boulders, we know we are “in deep” now. Looking down on the narrow passage and the steep drop-off of death on the right takes one’s breath away. I’m not afraid. Fear takes away concentration, and distracts from what needs to be done. I sense fear in my companions. I quickly pray, and carefully edge forward making certain of each footfall and handhold. In some places, the granite ‘path’ is so narrow that it is worn smooth by all the feet that have been forced to walk the same twenty inch route. I’m thankful for my good leather gloves and my great new climbing shoes. The clouds had been building, but don’t look stormy. We are above the cloud deck and can’t see the valley below very clearly when I dare look. This is the south side of the mountain. I wish I could see the Wild Basin area down there. And they say there is a large, black, rock formation appropriately named The Hearse right down below somewhere. But this is no place to think these things, even for a second. Focus! Right hand, right foot, left foot, left hand. Concentrate! I’m so thankful there is no wind to speak of. I’ve heard of people being swept right off places like this. Keep going, get this section behind us . . .
I followed them all across the Ledges and up the Trough, but I’m leading across the Narrows. I can hardly believe it. Adrenaline is a powerful hormone! I don’t think I’ve ever had so much! Now I’m almost to the end and I’m faced with a steep ‘wall’ of small, loose rocks and boulders. I’ts steep but there seem to be plenty of footholds and handholds. Just to the right, the fall line is straight down. This feels very precarious . . .
I’m studying the rock trying to decide the best way to get over the cliff-like edge of the last huge boulder when suddenly a face and arm are appearing and reaching down! I hesitate. “Come on, I’ll give you a hand!” He said with a smile. It was the man who passed us back in the Trough. I smile back and offer my hand. We lock hands. He’s not very big, but has a strong grip. I choose my footholds carefully, and with this new friend’s help, I’m over the top. Thanks, Mr. Lee! Soon, K. and G. are up too, with his help. “You’re almost there,” he states, pointing at a very steep, very impressive ‘slab’ of smooth granite, “I’m heading up, see you at the top!”

I’m thinking, yeah, so close! Crossing an easier semi-flat place, and here I am. The Homestretch! The last section before the summit is a 45 degree slope of smooth granite. So tired, but this is no place to be tired . . .
It’s daunting, but pick a route and get up there! Long’s Peak’s summit is calling, and I must go!
Oh great and merciful Father, You have made me a way up this far, I just need this final one!
There’s a nice looking crack on the left. Two cracks, with a sort of narrow ‘sidewalk’ between them. See you guys at the top, I’m shouting to the resting K. and G., who seemed to be trying to persuade each other to do this last, tough stretch. Putting my fingers in the crack on the left, I start up the granite slope. It’s amazingly smooth from the wear of thousands of shoes. I need all four points of contact here. Thank God for good Vibram soles and a tenacious grip! Soon, I stop for breath. This is fourteen thousand feet! I’m overwhelmed with the reality! Looking back I see my companions below. I’ve been so focused on the mountain, I failed to notice that the clouds have been filling in around us and our visibility is much less. I can still see some dark rusty brown spires of rock to the south, maybe a hundred yards away. No sign of Mr. Lee, he’s already up!
Halfway there! Stopping to take some photos of my companions below.

And I’m here! The edge of the flat summit and now I’m up! My longtime goal is met!  My Everest is conquered! It’s overwhelming, and Mr. Lee is here in welcome. Thank You, Lord!

My cohorts are arriving now and we all are hugging and congratulating one another. It is said that only 3 out of 10 people who attempt the summit actually make it, so we are feeling good. “I wonder what the other 7 are doing”, I quipped. We are taking pictures. Mr. Lee is heading for home after making sure we are alright. He has been up here several times. I now have his email address. G. finds the register, the summit log sheets, rolled up inside a cabled PVC tube in a crevice between two large boulders. I’m pretty sure the taller one is the absolute highest point on the peak. I should climb it and stand upon it, but that would only be a hollow gesture, and besides, I am completely spent. I’m happy to just rest here beside it and record my name along with G. and K. on the list of Spartans who made this climb. I’m in a state of joyful delight – blissful pleasure.
Now I must praise my Father and Lord who brought me here, enabled me, strengthened me, encouraged me, and blessed me. I’m convinced I could not have done it using only my own meager resources. 14,259 feet above sea level! Not on my own power, but Yours, Father! Now the race is run, the task finished, the goal reached. I’m spent and elated and filled with joy!

^ ~  ^ ~  ^

The Summit

Here, I’ll depart from my flow-of-consciousness, my present tense, the ‘in the now’. That stream is hard, for, no matter how much I want to, it’s impossible to relate every thought, emotion, and nuance of one’s state of being, especially given the light-speed rate at which they happen . . .

Then I was sitting there next to the eight-foot tall “summit boulder” of Long’s Peak in euphoria, dining happily on the beef jerky I had brought for the occasion. How much of the euphoria was from oxygen deprivation? That was a humorous thought. I wasn’t as hungry as I expected to be. I guess I was too full of water. The euphoria was being replaced by the fog of reality in small increments, thought by thought. Figurative fog and real fog too! I looked at the flat-ish, football field-sized summit. The fog was rolling past in waves. So this is what it’s like being in a cloud! Cloud 9, but a cloud, nevertheless! Sometimes everything was visible, then mostly not. I lamented not being able to see Chasm Lake, Mt. Meeker, Wild Basin, Mt. Lady Washington, the eastern plains, the western mountain ranges.  Funny, I had hardly noticed the fog until now. It moved in like a prowling cat. My watch showed 12:30 pm! How had it taken so long to get here from the Keyhole? I’d planned to summit and be back down at least to the campground by now. I’ve been on my feet for most of eleven hours! O Lord, please hold back the thunderstorms! The breeze isn’t strong, but it’s cool. This rock is hard – and cold, but at least I can sit and rest a while. I want to walk around, maybe look over the edge of the Diamond Face, but alas, I’m very tired, and that is what makes the trip down so dangerous and scary – fatigue. Fatigue! O Lord, how am I ever going to get down this steep rock, let alone all the miles of trail back to camp?
“One step at a time, fear not.” 
The fear that tried to come vanished again. Peace came over me, and I knew I was wrong again – the race was not run, the task not finished. I had completed only half of a marathon and had a new task before me – getting home (back to camp) alive and uninjured. I felt optimistic again, and “positivity” returned. It was really pretty pleasant up here! Except for not having recliners, the summit was comfortable today. I had companions! What more could I ask? Nothing!
After conversing, celebrating, resting, and recovering for about forty minutes, the weight of our circumstances pushes us into motion. If that smooth granite gets rain on it . . .  So we saddle up. As I said before, the descent is statistically the most dangerous part of the trip. If people perish, it most likely to happen on the descent. Fatigue is the culprit, and we now have the concerns of the time crunch we’re facing. Hurrying is not a good option, so now we are at the mercy of the weather. We need the ultimate Source of mercy more than ever! The fog has hampered our visibility of the skies – the skies that we are now standing in! We hear no thunder, but lightning storms can develop quickly. It is almost 1:00 pm. We should be nearing treeline by now, but we are uncomfortably exposed up here above treeline for at least the next two or three hours. I feel much better, physically, after resting, but my muscles have already gotten cold and stiff, so I do some stretches. I don’t want to strain a muscle, ligament, or tendon up here. Human help is many hours away.
Only 7.5 miles to go . . . That’s a pretty long hike itself.


Time to hitch up my resolve. Looking over the edge of the lip of the Homestretch, I’m taken aback at its steepness. How to do this? Then I remembered an extremely important piece of advice from my son, the experienced and accomplished rock climber. He told me to down-climb a steep slope of rock instead of walking down, butt-sliding down, or inverted spider-walking (facing away from the mountain). Those actions could result in an unrecoverable slide or tumble. Down-climbing affords the security and safety of three-point holds every one of which you can choose, and if you do slip or slide, there are many opportunities to recover your stability. In addition, you can see both up-slope and down. It’s like climbing down a ladder. You don’t want to face outward! So I turned around, faced the rock, and went over the “cliff edge” and down. It worked! Looking down between my feet, I felt very secure all the way down to where I could turn around and walk. Goodbye, Long’s Peak summit . . .
The fog wasn’t quite as bad as I down-climbed again down to the Narrows. My companions were not down-climbing, so I kept praying, and concentrated upon crossing that ridiculously-exposed section. At the west end of the Narrows, we had to climb up and inch around the precarious point of rock at the top of the Trough, after which more down-climbing technique was needed. Poles would have come in handy for going down that steep chute. Descending may be easier and faster than ascending, and it doesn’t make me breathe as hard, but it surely pounds and stresses old joints. The “kids” didn’t seem to be having any problems, though, and that made me smile. Then we found the bullseye marker where we had to enter the Ledges. We had to ascend to get to the traverse, and the Ledges traverse itself seemed to be a gradual upward incline all the way to the Keyhole. I could understand why it took so long to cover this section on the way up. It’s just a lot of scrambling. Tiring scrambling. I wasn’t drinking water as often as I had been, but didn’t have much left anyway. I assumed that altitude sickness was no longer a concern, but dehydration probably was.
The fog came and went, but halfway through the traverse, the fog became a light mist. I was glad to have help and companionship. We had become friends by this time and had a good “working” relationship.
Finally! There was the Keyhole formation! We couldn’t even see Glacier Gorge on the left, so we eagerly went through the Keyhole and started down-climbing the boulders of the Boulderfield. No stopping at the shelter, because the sight of the privies and the tent way down in the distance was enticing. The “hard part” was almost behind us.
All seemed to be going well until the mist turned into drizzle. The granite was getting wet . . .
More down-climbing! Although there was no longer a single path worn by herds of Vibrams, I had to choose my steps carefully.
It was much slower going than we wanted. Time wore on, and so did I. The Boulderfield seemed to be fighting me. I was really tired again. But, I was once again thankful for my new grippy-soled shoes.
At last! A privy to call my own. It was 3:45. It took two hours and forty-five minutes to get down here from the top and it felt good to be back at the low altitude of 12,700 feet. Haha!
Unfortunately, the marmots had thrown a party while mom and dad were absent. Their ground pads and some other things had become snacks for the giant rodents. Why they would chew on that is a mystery to me.
It was getting colder, and sunset was not far off. I retrieved my hiking poles and water bladder. I was glad the big squirrels had not chewed holes in that. (I did protect it under some rocks). I fueled up with a couple more energy bars. I figured I only needed about a quart of water to get home, so I packed a little extra and dumped the rest. It never hurt to have a reserve. It was getting colder. I hoped it would not start snowing. I put all my clothing on except for my rain gear. So, at 4:15 or so, we were ready to go. I was about four hours behind my planned schedule. I thought I could easily get back by 5 pm and that’s what I wrote in the trailhead log book. God, are you laughing at my silly plans? Still He preserved me this long and the regular afternoon storms held back today. It should be a relatively easy walk back. One step at a time!
It took 5.5 hours to get here this morning, so maybe 3.5 to get back? I should be home by 8 pm if all goes well. Three hours behind schedule. Would the rangers send someone to look for me? Would they even notice? Was I being silly again? I smiled. Our walk to the switchbacks was fast. I was thankful my pack was much lighter, but I was pushing myself to keep up with those young legs. They looked like they were fresh. Of course I had hiked much farther than they had today – eleven miles already. Farther than I’ve ever walked in one try. Keep going!
Then, sometime before the switchbacks, I looked to my left about thirty feet up on a ridge of rocks and stopped in my tracks. There was the silhouette of a wolf! It was sitting and could see its head and a little of its shoulders. The head was bigger than a coyote’s and its muzzle more boxy. Its ears were pointing straight up, and – it was looking straight at me! I took my pack off and dug out my camera to take a photo. No one would believe me otherwise. When I turned, it wasn’t there any longer! I began to wonder if I had imagined it. No! I was fatigued, but not addled! By the time I replaced my pack and hurried on, G. and K. had stopped down in the switchbacks to wait for me. They asked if I was okay because I was breathing hard in my hurry to catch up and I told them about the wolf. Their reaction was as expected – you had to be there . . .
They kept getting way ahead. I couldn’t keep up. I knew they needed to be in Estes Park by a certain time and needed to hurry. Besides that, they only had one flashlight and it would be dark soon. It’s hard to negotiate a trail if you don’t have your own light. And there’s another life metaphor! There was only one solution – ” You guys need to get down fast. Go ahead and get to Estes. Don’t worry about me, I’ll make it fine!” I said. They protested about leaving me by myself. We had bonded, and we cared about one another. I finally won out, and we talked about our wonderful day together, our summiting together, all we had done and been through together. We hugged and exchanged email addresses and vowed to stay in touch. They still felt bad about leaving me alone, but I told them I wasn’t alone – not ever! That was the most important part of this whole day. By now, they knew of my faith, Who I believed in, and why, because of things I had said during the day. I hope they remember me and my relentless faith. I hope they one day find Him for themselves. That’s my fondest desire for everyone I interact with . . .
   So, okay, they hurried away and soon were out of sight. It wasn’t long before I reached Granite Pass, and then the traverse on the side of Mount Lady Washington. I picked up my pace, picking my way down the rocky trail. My knees and hip joints were taking a beating, not to mention my lower back, but my poles were helping a lot. Where the drops between steps were large, I’d put my hands atop the grips, plant them ahead of me, and swing myself down, all my weight being on my arms. That was good, because my arms had done very little all day. They became indispensable appendages to help my extremely tired lower ones.
The drizzle had been increasing and finally became a light rain – a very cold, light rain. I stopped, dug my rain gear out of my pack, and put it on. I covered the pack with a rain cover I had brought and continued on, but soon became annoyed at the flapping of my too big rain pants, so I decided to remove them. I rolled them up and put them away, however, putting my pack back on, the left  strap tore free. Expletive! Sorry! Defective piece of . . .  What do I do now?
“Fix it!”
Yes, there must be some way (what would Macgyver do?) . . .  And there was. It was time-consuming, but I used some materials I had on hand. I tied a few knots, to make a long story short, and got back on the trail. It wasn’t long before dark closed in. I got my headlamp back out, not expecting to need it again today. I took comfort that I had brought spare batteries. Then I realized my mistake. What if the lamp itself failed? I had no backup! Mistake! More prayer needed! Less than four miles to go. How am I going to walk four more miles?

The rain was falling lightly but steadily now, but there was no wind, and that I considered a blessing. Finally, the trail turned away from the Lady and I knew Chasm Junction wasn’t far. It was dark as midnight, but my trusty headlamp was still bright. I kept going around rocks and boulders that were half buried, mostly buried, or lying on the ground. I continued using my poles to cushion sharp drops and big steps. I reached the junction at about 6:15, took a quick look at the signpost, and kept going. I probably was not drinking enough water. I didn’t think about eating. I wasn’t hungry. I thought about time and distance. I had covered about 2.5 miles since 4:15 including the conversation time and pack repair time. I was almost halfway back to camp and the easiest sections were ahead. Three-plus miles to go. Maybe I could do it in two hours . . .
It was less than a mile to treeline. I couldn’t believe I was still above treeline. I should have been down there hours ago! How blessed I was that my miscalculated schedule planning had not caused me a serious problem! It was less than a mile down Mills Moraine to treeline, and only a 600 foot drop in elevation. Fairly flat. I made good time. Was it just me, or had the rain been increasing? Also increasing, were scrubby vegetation and twisted, stunted trees along the trail. I made good progress, and soon I was at the marker that said “Ranger Station – 2.5”. Though it was getting foggy, the rain was cold and falling hard on my hood and shoulders, and my breath was condensing in front of me, I smiled and headed in the direction the arrow pointed.
After ten minutes or so, I began to feel just a bit uneasy. The trail didn’t look quite right. Of course it was dark when I covered this section early this morning. I wondered if my mind was playing tricks on me, after all it must be getting fatigued. I was still above 10,000 feet. My brain had been operating on four hours sleep, and had made tens of thousands of decisions nonstop for the past sixteen hours. Foot and hand placement. Do this, do that. It had processed unprecedented sights and sensations, much of it with a low oxygen supply . . . I kept going, but couldn’t shake the feeling of unease. I crossed a bridge across a small, fast running creek and came to a grove of willows at the end. Willows? I didn’t remember willows near a bridge. Soon, I noticed that the trail seemed to be ascending slightly, but steadily. I stopped, bewildered. Turn around, came a faint suggestion. I went a few more steps and tried to see what the trail ahead looked like. Turn around, came stronger. Surely, if I kept going, I would regain my certainty. This was not rocket surgery! Several more brave steps, and, . . . TURN AROUND! It wasn’t a suggestion. I sensed His presence. It was my Shepherd. I turned. I went back to the bridge. Was I lost? Had I branched off this trail I was on? This was serious. I had forgotten about Him for hours and I felt dumb and somewhat ashamed.
“Turn around.” What a metaphor those two words were for repentance on the trail of life.
I carefully, trustingly, made my way back, hoping that I could find the sign again. I didn’t see any forks or branches that might have deceived me, and after time stretched confusingly, I was back at the sign. It seemed miraculous. Thank You, Father, Son, Shepherd, Spirit!
I got close to the sign and tried to see where I erred. I had “misread” the funny little arrow in my haste. I was still disoriented, though. Which way had I come from? I checked the trails and recognized the characteristics of the trail which delivered me here from Chasm Junction. Then that must be the correct way to the trailhead! Yes, this way, came a confident word, and soon I felt much better. I was descending down a smoother, wider trail.
On a side note of reflection, I realize how easy it is to get off-track. Through the relationship, you get to know the Shepherd’s voice, but I had forgotten to listen. The sound of my own unworthy voice was too loud, and when you are trying to discern what your own voice is saying, there can be that other one trying to mimic yours. It’s the voice of the enemy, always working against your good, always trying to steal, kill, and destroy. Always trying to cover my Good Shepherd’s voice. This time, it tried to get me lost . . .
However, I came to my senses and stopped listening to those other two, listened to The One, and was saved. Another metaphor. Got to love it.
So, by this time, I’m really fatigued, physically, but mentally uplifted a bit. I knew how to persevere, I knew how to grind. This would be a serious grind. I had lost close to thirty minutes, and most of my strength and power. Now I would have to rely on any of those things God would give me. It was always so, whether or not I perceived it.

It was very dark. A deep cave kind of dark. It was raining even harder. On a positive note, my headlamp was still shining brightly. I knew I had gone a half mile when I came to the sharp turn in the trail that switched from east to north. You could have fooled me on the directions. I was soaked from the hips down. Rain was running off the bill of my cap. I started thinking about predators. I was the only human prey on the mountain by now. Black bears. Mountain lions are worse. They stalk you. I made sure I could quickly access my two sharp knives. They tell you to fight back, and I would if I had to. Perhaps the weather would keep any predators holed up. I prayed again.

Time passed, and I thought two miles in this section of trail shouldn’t be too bad if conditions don’t worsen . . . They did. It rained harder. I didn’t think it could. No lightning, though, and no hail or snow. It wasn’t quite cold enough for snow, thankfully. Even a small amount of snow would cover the trail, its hazards, make it hard to find,  and then I’d be in a pickle. I drew near to a stream several times. I could hear the water rapidly moving down what seemed a “fuller”-than-normal watercourse. I began to think about flash floods. They killed people as surely as lightning. I began to pay closer attention to the sounds upstream. Perhaps I could detect a wall of water coming and climb to higher ground. I remembered the Big Thompson flash-flood disaster of 1976, and the sudden flooding all along the front range in September of 2013. It happens in watersheds as extreme as these. 

After more time passed, splashing through puddles and slogging through muddy patches, I reached a split-log bridge which I remembered, and then some familiar switchbacks which were steep. I was now on the part of the trail I had hiked Sunday and Monday for acclimation and warm-ups. I was waiting for a “second wind”, a “third wind”, or any helpful “wind”, but none came.
This would be the sixth time I’ve covered this section. I shouldn’t get lost here, I thought. But I kind of did. Three or four times, what I thought was the trail ended against a barricade of boulders, a copse of aspens, or a pile of rocks. Behind the aspens, I could see an abrupt drop-off.  I was grateful that those things had stopped me before I went very far wrong. Only short reversals were needed to find the main trail. Everything began to look the same. “DO NOT GET YOURSELF LOST”! I Repeated. I began to imagine myself finding some kind of shelter under a fir tree and huddling there until daylight. KEEP GOING, do not stop for anything.” I sensed that if I stopped and sat down to rest, I would not be able to get going again.

Due to heavy use, the trail had been worn concave in many places and had become a flowing stream of rushing cold water. There were shallow pools behind the rock steps and anti-erosion log steps. By trying to walk on the higher sides of the path, and also choosing rocks to step upon, I tried to avoid stepping in water over my shoe tops, even though they were filled already.  That made the trek much longer and more difficult, but the water outside my shoes was just a lot colder than that inside them. Except for my squishing footsteps, pole plants, hard breathing, and rain sounds, it was completely silent. Downright spooky! Was this Goblin’s Forest? I began to feel like the only human on the planet, and I missed seeing the next three signs I had memorized before. Goblin’s Forest, Eugenia Mine, and one other. I was only looking down. That’s where all the important action was. There was another set of steep switchbacks somewhere around a mile in. I did recognize those. The Eugenia Mine Trail sign would have told me I was thirty minutes from camp, had I seen it. My watch told me another hour had passed.

Oh, Lord, I need help. I’m at the end of my rope . . . “I WILL TIE A KNOT. YOU HANG ON!
I was literally slogging, plodding, and trudging, shoes and gloves sodden and heavy with water as my brain was sodden with fatigue when the end of the trail back to camp was near. But it was not near – not like I thought it was. I saw no lights, and no signs where I thought they should be. Was I lost again? “NO, KEEP WALKING” He said firmly. I trudged on and on, now understanding much more personally the meaning of that word, and also of oppressive fatigue. Endlessly . . .
I might have crumpled if not for my poles. My legs were not responding properly to my brain’s commands. It was as though I were intoxicated, but in my spirit it was an intoxication of wonder and of faith, for . . .
I thought I saw a glimmer through the trees! The fog was less! Am I really seeing them? Another thirty yards. Yes! There are the lights I expected way back! I am going to make it! Another thirty and I could see the rail fence where the trail turned toward the parking lot. I wobbled to the kiosk where I could finally stop and record my return time. It was the first time I had stopped moving since the Battle Mountain sign. It was 9:00 pm. I was four hours past my generous estimate of a 5:00 pm return time in the log book. I could feel my last tiny drop of adrenaline coursing through me. My last bit of excitement. I was drained of everything else. I had just hiked, and scrambled, and climbed the vertical equivalent of a 486-story building, logged between fifteen and sixteen miles, and I had been “on the mountain” for 19 1/2 hours, but I was fairly lucid as I wrote: WET, COLD, EXHAUSTED, HAPPY in the “comments” column, and proudly checked the “successfully reached destination” column.
Then I took a photo of my penciled notation and joyously, unsteadily, made my way downhill, footsteps splashing in the water covering the empty blacktop parking lot.

The last 200 meters from the kiosk to my camp seemed to take hours to walk. When I finally staggered down the campground road and into camp, it was still raining hard and I was delighted to see my faithful pickup waiting where I left it. My tent! I was home! But my heart sunk when I saw it sitting in two inches of water. The tent pad wasn’t draining. I quickly used my camp shovel to make drainage holes in the raised pad, then I removed my rain gear and shook off the water before unzipping the rain-fly, and climbing in. The base of the tent had leaked a little. It wasn’t supposed to. However, only the foot of my sleeping bag was wet, and I was thankful it was not the whole bed.  What a struggle it was to remove wet clothes sitting down while fighting an aching fatigue! Everything seemed to resist! In time, I had toweled dry and installed fresh, dry, sleep clothing. I forgot gratitude, but every part of my being was smiling, and I’m certain I wasn’t the only one. There at 9400 feet, with the delightful sound of rain hitting the fly, my body feeling half alive, and my emotions super-alive, I went to sleep instantly, and slept “curled up” for nine hours straight without dreaming, rousing, or even moving.

The next morning, I awoke to birds singing and squirrels chittering. I thought I would just climb out of the sleeping bag, get dressed, and greet the sun. Nothing doing! I could hardly move due to the pain. Almost every part of me hurt. Muscles were stiff and sore. Joints were inflamed and aching, but it was one of those “good kinds of hurt”. Pain meant I had survived! I was alive in the best sense! And I was very hungry, essentially not having had a real meal for 36 hours. I remembered the gratitude I had forgotten, and lavishly thanked my Creator Lord and Savior, my Shepherd, Guide, Constant Companion, and my Wonder, my Friend, Loved One, and Lover of unworthy me. Glory to the One Mighty God, all the glory belongs to Him! I felt relieved and rescued. Fortunate and fulfilled!

Struggling into my clothes and out of the tent into the chilly but sunny morning, took far too long. It was a great feeling to drive again. I went into Estes and indulged in a huge breakfast, but on the way I stopped in a pullout to look at “my” mountain. I could hardly believe my eyes! She was covered with snow! While I was coming down in the cold rain, it was snowing on the peak! The cold front that had been expected this morning arrived last evening. I could well imagine the front with its cold air and snow following at my heels as I descended to lower altitudes. At 9400 feet it remained a rain, but at 11000 feet, or treeline and higher, it was a snow event. I could see that Meeker and the Lady were also covered in white. How blessed I was not to have been caught in that snowstorm!

I spent all that day exploring RMNP by vehicle. It was a day of euphoria, of recovery, and of rejoicing. Adventuring with God is emotional stuff . . . richly exhilarating . . . that is my testimony to which there is no end, except to strongly suggest that you go — go now, and find your own.

A Keyhole Glimpse

Through a keyhole,
I caught a glimpse of Heaven.
I dared to walk and climb
Upon a wonder of Creation, where
I learned more of its Creator’s wondrous attributes.
It must have been a thin place,
Thin of air,
But thick with grace.
We almost touched.
I almost felt the golden gates,
Up high where Jesus led and is
The only Trail, the Path, and Route,
The Way to the sacred Peak of Gates,
The only Channel of Locks, 
The only Passkey.
And He is the Gates,
And He is the Keeper of Gates,
He is the Marker of Routes,

and He is the Marks,
He’s the mysterious Wolf at dusk,
The Mountain Lion,
Full of pursuit and power. 
He’s the Bridge,

And the clear Living Water beneath.
He is the Light at my feet,
And He is the only Aperture
Through which to peep
The glimpses of Heavenly Wonders
Long, high, wide, and deep.

* * * * * * ^ * * * * *


    So many things could have gone wrong, but hardly anything did. 

   It had its harrowing parts. It had excitement and joy. It was exhausting. It was enlightening. It was a sampler of many emotions, but there was no fear the whole time. There was an underlying peace.
   I was thankful that God woke me two hours early, lack of sleep notwithstanding. I might never had met my companions. I might have gotten back at 11:30 pm. I might have gotten lost in the snowstorm. I might not have gotten back at all, but for grace . . . The thing is, “might” is supposition, the reality is that it all happened just the way it was designed to, within grace, purpose, plan, and faith!
   I stood on the pinnacle, but that is only the tip of the iceberg of MY meager understanding of Creation’s astounding complexity. There are higher mountains on earth that I have imagined myself standing atop, and, for that matter, there are even taller mountains on other planets, in other galaxies, upon which I can only imagine raising my hands in His praise. Perhaps, in eternity, Jesus will take me to those and countless other wonders.
Thank you, dear reader, for persevering through this memoir of my lifetime event. You truly complete the cycle of the wonderful writing/reading relationship. I’m eternally grateful.
Your Gloryteller.


© Copyright by Lenn Snider 4-10-21
           All rights reserved




A Platform Of Grace

Great blocks of grace, upon grace, upon grace
Layered from peak to earth
Forming wondrous pyramidal base
Which I gratefully abide atop
Surveying the miracle of rebirth
The Highest, whom I might praise nonstop
See brightest springtime rays of morning
Where mercy, upon mercy, upon mercy’s dawning
Secured by the mortar of rescue undeserved
Falling like rain from One I scarcely served.
The gilding of hope, upon hope, upon hope
Edges draped with gleaming golden rope
Where I am preserved, I wait
Held by Love’s embrace, upon embrace, upon embrace
Temple of Jehovah, Yahweh, Adonai
Jesus, Messiah, El-Shaddai
O Ancient Of Days, right here I’ll wait
Being held by Love, upon hope, upon mercy, upon faith
Living high upon grace, upon grace, upon grace
Upon grace, upon grace, upon grace.



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