Hiking into the clouds

81st Edition

During early September my wife and I spent a week hiking in the Dolomites in northern Italy. We hiked towering peaks over nine thousand feet with majestic views of valleys, distant vistas, one far-away glacier, and sloping green meadows dotted with grazing sheep and cows. Surrounded by such beauty we felt compelled to hike every trail and photograph every spectacular view.

Then on the second to last day of our trip the weather changed. Dense fog and a chilling light mist descended upon us like a wet blanket. Undaunted, we set out, heading one last time toward the highest peaks. The higher we climbed, the thicker the fog became. It felt to us like we were hiking into the clouds. Gone were the majestic views we were all anxious to see, replaced by an eerie calm and quiet.

In a quiet moment on one of the peaks, surrounded by clouds, with nothing to see in any direction, my mindset changed. I realized that in all my years of hiking I was always striding toward something. The highest peak, spectacular views, or on particularly strenuous hikes, simply the next rest stop. In many ways, for me at least, hiking, searching, or striving, are all versions of the same life philosophy. Looking ahead or beyond for something more, something better, or at least different, has been my lifelong journey.

What I may have lost along the way with such a mindset is the magic of the moment.  That special connection or unique experience that only happens in the here and now. The realization that where you are, who you may be with, and most importantly, God’s sovereignty over it all, really matters. It may be, in fact, the primary point of our existence. And that was my epiphany at nine thousand feet with nothing to see.

For me, hiking the high country has always been a spiritual experience. On still days in the mountains it is possible to find total silence. Perhaps the only sound might be the soft chime of a cowbell, or the high-pitched chirp of a playful marmot. Sounds like these don’t really disrupt the silence as much as they draw attention to how peaceful it can be. They remind us that we are part of something infinitely larger than ourselves. Connecting to the gentle sounds of nature can be a pathway toward a greater awareness of our innermost thoughts.

We have to listen intently to discover silence. What we can hear amidst silence can be transformative. The Holy Spirit speaks in silence and is heard best when we eliminate, or at least block out, all man-made noises. I’m wondering how often that happens. In my life…… not often enough. In stillness, God reveals Himself to us through the gentle flow of the Spirit. Time spent quietly and in stillness can deepen our relationship with God. Conversely, our hyperactivity and unawareness of the moment can block these spiritual connections. For all its breathtaking beauty, God’s Kingdom is, first and foremost, relational.

I realize these thoughts are in no way profound, but maybe useful reminders of how our pace through life often determines our level of peace and contentment. Less can be more. Stillness can reveal God’s truth and His everlasting grace. In my lifetime, I can’t think of a time when these were needed more.

A final thought…. We face a dilemma, don’t we, as caretakers of God’s Kingdom here on earth. As we utilize its resources through scientific discovery and technological innovation, I wonder how much more the earth can provide. Will we eventually consume our way to oblivion? Will we look back at some point in the future and realize that our reliance on technology has not solved our polarization, and that we might need to unplug and relearn how to listen intently and openly, especially to people who think differently? Will artificial intelligence make us better reconcilers and peacemakers, or simply more productive?  Might be time to head to the high country to ponder such questions…

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Michael Kayes 

*These views are my personal opinions and are not the viewpoints of any company or organization.

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