Many people ask us why we do it. Many people are bewildered why we return, put our lives on hold, and put ourselves into situations where we aren’t sure if its sweat, rain or both that is dripping down our foreheads. The real sadness is when we start asking ourselves these same questions, and we can’t remember the answers. I have been blessed to be involved with Beyond in one way or another for the last few years. Even with this continuity of service, sometimes I question the sacrifice. Well this week I was reminded that the answer lies in the McKinley Fly.
The fly isn’t pretty. It makes one think that somewhere out there roaming the highways is a circus that has lost the top of one of its tents. In wind storms the fly acts more like a parachute than a weather break. Its stated purpose is to repel the rains, but often the condensation that forms inside its walls can rivals the persistent drizzle outside. But it was within this square-ish sanctuary that I was reminded of why we travel into the waves, forests, storms and sunsets of British Columbia.
Mountain 10-day this year was the ideal training trip. Rope systems were set up, crevasses were jumped into, and the unending oral tradition of guiding was handed down to the wide eyed first years. But almost as if by clockwork, when the day was wrapped up and camp set, the clouds would unleash torrents of rain sending everyone scurrying into the fly for the serving of dinner, studying of scripture, and telling of life stories.
The time spent in the fly this week was the same as any other trip that ventures out at Beyond—but its context was different. I knew that the guides sitting around me weren’t hesitantly emptying their hearts in a once in a life time chance at vulnerability, they were emptying their hearts in preparation. They were preparing for a summer of modeling vulnerability. They were like Peter getting out of the boat to walk amidst the waves of their own lives in hopes of meeting Christ…so that they might lead others to Him. These were stories of fear, joy, brokenness, laughter, and abandonment—stories of life. But the beautiful thing was they were all unfinished stories. It seemed as if the men and women surrounding me in the fly were not telling these stories as an end all explanation of what locks them into who they are, but rather as a setting of the stage in eager anticipation of Christ showing up this summer--in their lives.
Redemption is the part of the story of life—for our participants, for our leaders, and for ourselves. Ten-day set the stage in a mighty way. It will undoubtedly be a full tough summer just like it has been every other summer at Beyond. But the guides on the mountain and sea have walked into vulnerability, humility, and hope.
The summer is in full swing... and new stories are being written.
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