I wiped my sweaty palms on my pants. This was my first attempt at rock climbing, and I was terrified. I hadn’t been keen on trying it, but my husband, Jim, was insistent. “You’ll be surprised at how it will build your confidence for other things. It’s quite safe, and besides, you might even like it!”
Swinging from the end of a rope off a cliff didn’t sound like my idea of fun, but his persistence paid off. I stepped into the climbing harness and put on a hard hat. The belay rope, secured to the rock and the mountaineering instructor at the top, was clipped onto the harness. I knew I was safe, but I was still terrified. Reaching up, my fingers clamped onto the narrow ledge of cold stone. After climbing about thirty feet, I was ready to give it up and turn back.
“Don’t get discouraged!” the instructor called down. “It’s actually easier to keep going forward. Besides, I know you can do it.” Finally, I crawled over the cliff top—exhilarated, exhausted, amazed—while my husband and kids cheered from below.
Some months later, Jim was killed by a drunken driver in a head on collision. When the news came in the middle of the night, I felt as if I’d been kicked in the stomach. But as I hung up the phone, my mind flashed back to that summer scene in Colorado.
God, I’m terrified, and I don’t know the way up this mountain. But I know You’re up there, and You have me “on belay.”
