During Christmas break, we decided to climb West Wing Mountain. I know, I know. What we call a mountain in Arizona would only be called a small hill in Utah and Colorado, but it still took time, (a little over an hour) strength and endurance and we had a lot of fun doing it. Many women in my ward and stake climb the mountain on a daily basis (one courageous soul—Jen—climbs while carrying her baby in a pack) so we wanted to go see what all the hoopla was about.
Almost immediately my husband and daughter, Michelle, ran ahead. Michelle likes to run up the mountains and my husband stays with her because he is extremely competitive and can’t stand knowing that one of his children might be faster than he is. (And truthfully, none of our children are in better shape than he is as he runs every day—he just prefers to do it on flat ground.) Kathryn and Kristen took pity on me, however, and climbed at my pace.
I very much enjoyed the exercise and the feeling of accomplishing something I had never done before. But the best part really, was sharing the experience with my daughters and being able to visit with them.
When we are given mountains to climb, we grumble.
But when we reach the top of the mountains, we rejoice in our achievement,
And then immediately take time to admire the view of the valley.
I am wondering if one of the reasons God gives us mountains in our lives, is to give us a better view of how far we have come.