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The Greatest Secret

You know the greatest secret that this universe has to offer.

You know the greatest secret that this universe has to offer.

You know it, but I will go ahead and remind you. It is this: You are known- beyond the point of intimacy, beyond those skeletons that fill your walk-in closet, even beyond those things that you can't stand about yourself so you've suppressed those pieces of you behind everything else just so you can bear to look yourself in the mirror each day- you are known beyond all of this. You are known, and you are loved.

You are loved with a love that abides eternally. You have been freed from petty attempts at trying to earn salvation. You are loved, you are loved, you are loved. I cannot say those words enough times or with enough power, that their true severity would be understood by our human minds and human hearts, but you are loved.

As Jesus died on the cross, He bore the full weight of every specific, individual sin that we have ever committed. And you can bet that He did not ignore a single one. Every sin, every time we pushed God out of our conscience just to have a little fun, every dark thought that we indulged in for just a moment, and even those soul-crushing decisions that we have begun to define ourselves by. Jesus was crushed by those same weights. Oh, how He must know you!

In the garden that night before He went to the cross, He was given a taste of what was to come. He was given full understanding of that burden He must bear. He was given full knowledge of who you are. He saw the full map of your heart. And He still went. And His grace abounds.

This love is what you have been looking for all of your life. And nothing can separate us from the love of Christ. He will never leave you; He will never forsake you.

You are known, and you are loved.

You know the greatest secret that this universe has to offer.

How will you respond?

-Tyler Jewess, Base Camp Staff 

Part of Something Larger

Rain: loud enough to force our voices to shout in order to be heard above the noise.

Wind: strong enough I fear my body will become airborne and swept away with the clouds.

I, a human, am out of my element in the midst of these elements.

Life stories. Questions asked. “In a hypothetical cage fight who are you fighting and who do you want to impress?”

I think this mountain overheard our private McKinley Fly conversation and said, “challenge accepted.”

To the mountain nothing is private. To the mountain nothing is left as personal. My feet are no longer my own. My toes are so cold that I almost feel the mountain might’ve taken them, and will keep them for good.

Then why am I here? Is it to feel small? Perhaps, but not quite.

Not to feel small, but to realize that I am not my own. I am not personal or private, but a part of something much larger. Something that I’m not at the center of. Something more powerful than myself.

And in that realization, once I embrace it, there is peace and rest. An end to striving and the beginning of watching (in awe) as the power moves, and joining with the power in its movement. Allowing myself to be moved. Realizing that I’m not the primary mover. That there is a primary mover greater than the mountains themselves, who even controls their movement. 

-Skye Cornell, Mountain Guide 

Our Table

This summer I find myself in the midst of a beautifully intimate community. There are quite a few things that make this community what it is. With the shared purpose of facilitating encounters with Christ, we have found ourselves knit together. Some of the threads which tie us together are glorious, but others, not so much.  One variable seems to foster the most growth, laughter, and conversation for us: The Table.

Each day during breakfast, lunch, and dinner you will find the members of our community seated around a cedar picnic table sharing a meal lovingly created with our own hands. There is a profound spirituality that revolves around the entity which is this table. To find it, you need not look further than the life of Jesus. As margarine is spread on our homemade bread, so are the examples of Jesus inviting people to His and to their tables spread throughout the Gospels.

So, what is the substance behind the spiritual purpose of the table? Surely it’s more than apples, oranges, bananas, and spoonful upon spoonful of peanut butter (though these are definitely staples). In my opinion, the purpose of the table is multi-faceted:

• ·         The table is a space for restoration; John 21:1-19, where Jesus restores Peter over breakfast.

• ·         The table is a space to serve and be served; John 13:1-17, where Jesus washes the disciple’s feet.

• ·         The table is a space to praise; Mark 14:26, where Jesus and the disciples sing hymns at the Lord’s Supper.

• ·         The table is a space with an open invitation; Luke 14:23, “Then the master said to the servant, ‘Go out into the highways and hedges, and invite them to come in, that my house may be filled’”.

These are just a few of the many purposes of the table, and I love how I see them played out over our very own cedar picnic table. As a place to serve and be served, we make meals for one another and offer what we have. Our souls are restored as we meet together, and quarrels evaporate like the steam from a hot soup. The table is filled with praise as we thank the Lord for his provision and worship Him over fruit, oatmeal, and cinnamon rolls.

Perhaps most importantly, the table is an open invitation. To those who stop by, we invite you to sit and be nourished. To those with whom we are frustrated, let us fill your cup with a hot bevy. To those who we love, let us share a seat and a smile. To those who do not yet know the body or the blood of Jesus, we invite you to come and taste at our table. There is room for you here, and yes, you are invited.

-John Wayne Seitzler, Sea Kayaking Guide 

From Daredevil to Courage-Taker

To illustrate the difference between my twin sister, Kaitlin, and me, I love to tell a simple story that encapsulates my adventurous spirit and her cautious desire to protect me. One day, Kaitlin, my dad and I were hiking in a neighborhood park, and as I climbed onto a fallen tree to cross the creek, my sister, Kaitlin, anxiously yelled after me to stop. I boldly turned and replied, “I’m a daredevil. You’ll just have to get used to it.” Whether she has liked it or not, that’s exactly what has happened as she’s watched me adventure from one opportunity to the next since our adventures in the park. The most recent “daredevil” move- coming to Beyond Malibu to guide mountain trips- has taken me far from home, but has brought me close to kindred spirits who have willingly embarked on this latest adventure too.

Despite her apprehension at times, to my delight, my sister has grown to accept and support me as I travel. However, if Kaitlin were to reach out to stop me now, I think the insight I’ve gained during my time here would elicit a much different response than that of my childhood self. You see, over the past several weeks, I’ve come to view what it means to be a daredevil in a very different way.

To my eight-year-old self, being a daredevil meant doing things that might be scary to others but weren’t scary to me. After seven weeks of trips with participants and two training trips with guides across two summers, I’ve witnessed plenty of people doing things that scared them; things like crossing glaciers, climbing over ridges, scaling up root ladders, and walking for hours with a heavy pack on. My question about these participants, guides, and at times, myself, is this:  are all of us excluded from the title of daredevil while doing these epic things on trail just because we’ve experienced fear? If we are excluded, is the loss of such a title really something to stress over?

My last year and a half at Beyond has taught me many things, but one lesson that has most recently taken root is centered around the topic of fear. When I was younger, I viewed fear as this negative feeling to be avoided at all costs. Even in scripture we are commanded not to fear. However, there’s a difference I was missing. Scripture doesn’t tell us not to fear because we should never experience fear. Rather, scripture assures us that we do not need to let fear rule over us, because our God is near and will lift us up despite our fears. During two of my trips this summer, some participants encountered new terrain that scared them- lots of snow, icy slopes, root ladders, etc., but upon each encounter a unique opportunity was presented: remain immobilized by fear or press on with God’s peace in view. Fear would have us believe that moving forward is not an option, whereas truth beckons us forward. The choice is this: allow the hand of fear to be your master or force fear to submit to the hand of God by reaching out to Him for the strength and willingness to press on. In choosing the latter, we create a space to allow God to care for us and to protect us. In my old way of thinking, fear was limiting and weak. In my new way of thought, fear is just another place for the Lord to step in and pull me forward by the strength of his hand.

“I was pushed back and about to fall, but the Lord helped 

me.” Psalm 118:13

The reality of these words, and the sincere comfort they bring, takes on a deep importance when it can be translated literally to the mountains. But the truth is, we were not made for the mountains. We were made for the valleys where the truths learned in the mountains may take root.

The once cherished daredevil title, held dearly by my childhood self for its sense of adventure and excitement, has now been rewritten to a much stronger, worthwhile title: courage-taker. During the next step into post-graduate life, I may now proceed with confidence. Though I feel fear, I may turn my eyes to the Lord,

“In God, I trust and am not afraid… for you have delivered me from death and my feet from stumbling, that I may walk before the Lord in the light of life.” Psalm 56:11,13

With the same confidence, participants may walk forward in courage and truth as they encounter new terrain and as they transition home following their mountain-top experiences. Now the question is, what about you? Are you striving for the daredevil title too, clinging to the idea that you have something to prove as you force away fear on your own accord, or are you embracing a new identity, courage-taker, by the grace of God’s hand outstretched to you?

-Lauren Bonney 

A Base Camp Prayer

“Have I mentioned how much I love this place?

I love this place. It is magical.

Your peace rests over it, coddles it like a fresh-out-of-the-dryer blanket.

Your grace settles like the rain: unobtrusive, subtle, gentle. Here you are at work. Everywhere you are, but here I am less blind to it.

I feel your peace in my soul. I feel tangible renewal. I feel the hot coffee slipping down my throat, warming my body. I feel the cool breeze tiptoeing over my skin.

It is euphoric.

It demands my attention.

I am aware because all the things I cram on my plate, heaping and ugly and messy, are wiped clean. All I have before me is to serve you, this community, and campers on trips.”

-Madi Krueger 

Paying Attention

Ali Savage is a second-year mountain guide who will graduate
 in the fall from Western Washington University.
She studies education & political science,
and is passionate about freedom, the mountains,
and Jesus. 

I see two types of people in this world: movie-talkers and everyone else. For better or worse, my mom is the former. I grew up with her elbow perpetually jabbed into my side, always accompanied with the question, “Who is that?” or, “What did she just say?” Utterly committed to understanding a plot line, she’s never been afraid to ask questions, even in a very crowded movie theater. She is, in one word, engaged. I’ve found that this same binary exists in every other arena of my life as well. The breakdown I see is as follows: there are those who pay attention, and everyone else. The Gospel demands that I pay attention; to others, to the movings of the Holy Spirit, and to myself.

Jesus paid attention to the ones most vulnerable to being ignored. Jesus paid attention to the voice of the Father compelling him to listen to and love the broken and the cast-off. Jesus was, and is, unyielding in his desire to pay attention. In order to emulate Jesus, I must pay attention.

As I prepare to finish my second summer of guiding, and thus my time commitment to Beyond Malibu, I believe that this is one of the greatest things God has taught me during my time here. I live in a world where my brain is addled by stimuli, everything vying for my attention. As a Christian, particularly a Christian who does ministry with high school kids, I often believe falsities. Sometimes to my peril, I believe that if I just yell the Gospel louder I will be heard. I believe that if I listen to more sermons, read more books, and have more or louder or better worship, then I will hear the voice of God. In reality, what I actually need is to be stripped of excess so that there are fewer things distracting me from paying attention to the voice of God. Beyond Malibu is a place thick with that presence. I am given the time and the space to be engaged with others, with the movings of the Holy Spirit, and with myself.

Because of this space given to me to pay attention, here are some things I’ve come to know:

I know the soft and powerful movement of air overhead, heron’s wings beating a divine rhythm.
I know more shades of green and blue and grey than language can put form to.
I know the slow breathing of the Inlet, tides rising and falling like the chest of some sleeping aquatic giant.
I know bare feet on green floors and 5:30 AM belly laughs.
I know the sight of hot, holy tears in the eyes of a participant as the clouds open up and they get their first view of the mountain that they’ve spent the last three days climbing.
I know what it means to love, because He first loved us.

Because of Jesus’ example, and because of this tiny corner of the map named Beyond Malibu that so many have called home, I know what it means to pay attention to the presence of God; not because I have more of what matters, but because I have less of what doesn’t.

With love,
Ali

“What does it mean to pay attention?

And by this, I mean, what does it mean to be alive?”

- Mary Oliver

A Purpose-Filled Life

Xavier Salazar is a student at Grand Canyon University 

in Arizona, where he is earning a degree in Biblical Studies.

 He is on the maintenance team at base camp this summer.

 In his free time, Xavier loves slack-lining, playing

 Frisbee, and hanging out with friends.

I will never forget watching the movie “Kung Fu Panda” for the first time. My cousin and I laughed in unison as my mouth began to hurt from smiling for so long. There are a few memorable moments from the movie, but one specific quote constantly flows through my mind: “there are no accidents”.

For three years I have been hearing about this Young Life camp called Beyond Malibu. From 2013 to 2015 many of my friends have been involved with Beyond, either as participants or as staff. I missed out each year because I either heard about the opportunity too late or other summer plans interfered. However, the more I heard of my friends’ experiences, the more I desired to have some part in this place. This summer though, everything came together, and here I find myself on maintenance at base camp.

Now that I’m here, I’ve begun to ask why? Why now? Why didn’t I go on a trip with my high school friends? Why didn’t I go in college with my friend’s school trip? Why didn’t I apply for maintenance any other year? There have been so many other opportunities and options. In the midst of asking these questions, I remember that quote from Kung Fu Panda, “There are no accidents.” If I took any of those past opportunities, I might not be here right now. I would never have met Skylar, Chase, John Wayne, T.J., or Isaiah, my base camp co-workers who have become like family. I would never have met Cody, my direct boss, who has been like an older brother to me. I would have missed out on growing in relationship with my long-time friend Rick Wilson. I never would have sat next to unique, lovely, and beautiful people while worshiping Jesus around a roaring fire. I would not have learned valuable lessons that will shape me for the rest of my life. Old passions that God placed in my heart would not have been reawakened, and this summer full of life and adventure wouldn’t have existed. God’s perfect planning led to me coming here and experiencing everything that I have. It is clear that I am supposed to be here right here and right now. If you take time to look at specific moments of your life you can see the Lord using them in his plan.

Xavier (left) and part of the maintenance team at base camp

God brings purpose to every moment and decision in our lives. There is purpose in the mere fact that you were created. There is purpose in your community. There is purpose in your job. There is purpose in this very moment as you read these very words.

What exactly is that purpose? Ask God and trust. God has a purpose and a plan for your life.

-Xavier Salazar. 

Freedom from Struggle

Peyton (middle) works in the kitchen at base camp. In her free time, she enjoys swimming in the inlet and playing monopoly deal. She is currently attending SDSU in California for biology. Peyton is passionate about Jesus, In-N-Out Burger, and the ocean. 

Sometimes it is important to be in a place not shaped by the hands of humans, somewhere where it doesn’t matter if you’re barefoot because your shoes hurt too much, and a place that doesn’t respond to the command of a light switch. It is important to be humbled and to realize how human we are. I am grateful for Beyond because it makes me celebrate simple things like hot coffee in the morning, loud singing during dish duty, community, worship, and pure silliness. Base camp has become home, but my week in the mountains climbing JJ taught me a whole new meaning of trusting God and truly relying on His strength. 

During the majority of our time ascending, we were in a whiteout. We were cold, wet, and anxious. As difficult as the weather was, I felt that it was very fitting for our group. Although we could not see the beauty beyond the clouds, we all knew that it was there. The same concept works in regards to our walks with Jesus; we may not be able to see him, but we know he is always there. All we have to do is invite Him in.

On our summit day, the clouds opened up and the sun came out for the first time. I have never witnessed anything so beautiful. That moment of sun on the summit made me realize that God had a plan for our group. His plan was for us to realize that it is okay to struggle, it is okay for things not to be perfect, and it is okay not to have any idea where you are at or where you are going.

The whole JJ group before leaving for the trail

Before going on this trip, I had a lot of fear. I am a “lupie”, meaning I have lupus along with my autoimmune disease; mixed connective tissue disorder, and arthritis. I am told I can’t do things pretty often, and I let a lot of those negative comments pull me down. Even in the midst of these physical struggles, I felt God tugging at my heart telling me this was something I needed to do.

The strength God gave me throughout this trip made me reevaluate how I place my identity in Him. The feeling of conquering that mountain with the Lord was far more empowering than nursing my wounds and clinging to my pain all the time. There is something about the outdoors that fuels my soul, my spirit, and my overall well-being. I was forced to lean on the Lord when I was uncomfortable in the whiteout, and the way He met me was with this beautiful mountain experience I will carry with me for the rest of my life.

-Peyton Cook 

Thoughts from the Pack Shack

Madi Krueger works in the pack shack at base camp. She spends her days meticulously measuring ingredients for trip meals, making sure that each camper, leader, and guide who goes into the mountains has enough food to conquer the trails. Madi is a senior at Western Washington University and is studying journalism. While here at base camp, she loves playing her ukelele named Whimsy, spending time on the dock, and reading through the Harry Potter series for the first time.

It’s funny how my priorities have changed since arriving here at Beyond. Objects that once used to be strapped to my body or mind have taken flight from my thoughts and now wither in the cobwebbed corners of my mind. My phone currently sits at the bottom of my backpack, lifeless and untouched for days. I only use it to read downloaded sheet music for my ukulele, which gets a lot more action since I’ve gotten in the habit of worship on the dock or subtle strumming with the sunset. The makeup I devoted twenty minutes of every morning to and the chemicals and substances which, I believed, made me “pretty” and “enough,” were hurriedly tucked away to the bottom of my bin. The few mirrors here at base camp show me an old and familiar face that God always saw as beautiful and enough, mosquito bites, sunburns and all. I had cautiously tucked away that face full of childlike wonder and playful curiosity in the name of growing up. I bathe in the salty inlet, breathe in open and star-lit skies from my sleeping bag on the dock, and laugh at how very ridiculous it is to get frustrated over exactly 33 bags of skim milk powder. I cram my body on the floor of a crowded room to watch the first movie I’ve seen in a month, forget what a flushing toilet sounds like, and give thanks for a massive bowl of that rare vanilla ice cream. I wish I could save up enough of these moments to last the rest of my life.

My mind, even, has been freed from the shallow places I once anchored it to in order to keep it afloat in the busyness of life. The magnifying glass I once spent too much time under, the self I built up and hid behind to show my worth, has been kicked aside and traded out for a better view of others and of God. I’ve been able to dive deeper into what it means to be a follower of Jesus, what it really means for his redemptive love to wash over me, and what it really means to realize His sufficiency is more than enough for my inadequacies. I’m raw and flawed and human here because I’m allowed to be. Learning to set aside self-centered thoughts gives me the freedom to look more closely at others, flawed and human themselves, and love them better for it. I see the blistered feet of guides who walk kids along the mountainous horizons, the sore backs from raking trails, and the stress tears from food that never got shipped in. I’ve also seen the smiles that stretch around campers faces while guides sing and dance in goofy costumes at opening club. I’ve watched their eyes widen while “holy cow, another meal!” gets added to their already humongous backpack, and their nervous looks while gazing up at the mountain they’re told they can climb. It seems I’ve seen them expand and shrink in a paradox of growth here. Eyes grow, smiles widen, and faith expands while standing on the summit or in a small room called the “Pack Shack,” feeling smaller than ever before. In it all, God remains the same size, just a little clearer here, to them and to me.

-Madi Krueger

Phoenix kids 1977. Long One Eye—plus we climbed Sun Peak. Spent one whole 24 hours in tents on Smithman Ridge in a torrential downpour. Decision was to go back or finish the route. Decided it was as far to go back as to finish, so we went on. First time One Eye was ever done “missing” a day in the week plus climbing Sun Peak.

Check the kids in Levis. Clown White. Cotton Flannel shirts. Goldline rope.

Jim and Marty Caldwell, Sally Stahl, Monica Smith (McGuckin)

The growth and history go deep at Young Life Beyond Malibu.  Join Beyond Malibu for your epic experience and grow deeper in your relationship with Jesus Christ.

Mountains and Valleys

NOVEMBER 17, 2015 ~ JONNY

“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.”
–C.S. Lewis, The Weight of Glory

Eleven high school boys and their Young Life leader, all from Houston, TX, blindly follow my guide partner and I as we trudge across Microwave Bowl, a mile or two of flat glacier at the base of Mt. Albert before the summit push goes slightly more vertical. Divided into three rope teams, we navigate through a whiteout. We have enough visibility to see about the distance of a rope length. When we stop for a drink of water, the boys’ leader looks around, and proclaims (with a charming Texan lilt), “Ok. This is the most surreal thing I have ever done.”

These guys come from a wealthy neighborhood in Texas. None of them have ever done anything like this before, and it is likely they never will again. Life is rarely like this–tied into rope teams, navigating around gaping crevasses, practicing how to stop yourself with an ice axe as you slide backwards headfirst down a snow slope, walking faithfully behind a couple of dudes you just met who promise you they know what they’re doing as you march your way through the white fog.

Rarely is the sense of life’s risk so palpable, the trust so blind, and the goal (and it’s reward) so voluminous and obvious as summiting a mountain. Just a few days and about 8,300 ft prior, these guys were stepping off a boat at sea level.

All week, we have been sharing life stories and looking at what life and community might look like with Jesus at the helm. These guys are pretty aware of the pressures being put on them back home, but the time up here makes it vivid and obvious. There’s a phrase that gets used among students at their school: “The Stratford Cookie Cutter,” named after the cultural mold of school and community that divides their future into specific shapes to be baked into place like doughy cookies in an oven.

On this trip, for the first time in many of their lives, perhaps, they are experiencing real connection and community. They wonder aloud to each other why they treat each other so poorly, speak so unencouragingly to one another. They are weary of partying, of only being known on the surface, of flimsy relationships with girls, of being pushed from behind to become the next purveyors of successful lives defined by “good” jobs and material success. And they are so ensnared–their personal brokenness, the brokenness of their friends, the brokenness of their greater community back in Texas.

With all distractions stripped away and the real-time adventure of the mountains, it’s easier to see life, God, and ourselves in better light. We see this in Matthew 17, when Jesus leads Peter, James, and John “up a high mountain” and before them is transfigured–his face shining like the sun and his clothes a dazzling white. Up on the mountain, the disciples are getting a glimpse of who Jesus really is, without distraction, in fuller glory. Peter declares, “Lord, it is good for us to be here.” He suggests setting up some dwellings to stay even longer.

But we cannot live on the mountain top. As mountain guides at Beyond, we try to help our groups think about the tough transition back to the valley. We process what it means to take the clarity of the “mountain top experience,” the shining face of Jesus, back into the chaos of normal life. As Jesus and the disciples descend the mountain, he orders them to “Tell no one about the vision until after the Son of Man has been raised from the dead.” The mountain top experience is not the permanent manifestation of new life, but simply a glimpse of the beginning of its glory.  Now, with the summer over, it’s time for us guides and basecamp to practice what we preach.

Separated from the palpable, physical adventure, it’s difficult to know what this looks like. At the dock, I’m greeted by my car which has a flat tire and no discernible trace of oil on the dipstick. Later, when I get wifi on the ferry, my phone blows up with texts and I make the horrible mistake of looking at my email inbox. In Spokane, I’m greeted by ideas, habits, obligations, and relationships, which I’ve left piled up like my things in my friend’s garage for the summer, collecting sawdust, and it’s time to dust them off and get things back into their right place again.

It’s hard to know if the experiences that my groups and I had are “real” and if we can trust that they will have any real bearing on our lives. Surely they will. But things are not so clear down here. I’m imagining my Texas boys back home, almost halfway through their senior year already, hoping that their experience this summer was true but unsure how to keep it going. I picture this, because this is what I’m questioning in my own life.

And  I was the GUIDE!

In my own brokenness, I confess my doubt that anything in their lives will really change, or that anything in my life will really change.

In this tension lies the Christian life. We are promised glory, to be welcomed into the heart of things. And indeed, through Jesus, it is already given to us. And yet, we wait for its completion. We see in Romans 8:

22We know that the whole creation has been groaning in labour pains until now; 23and not only the creation, but we ourselves, who have the first fruits of the Spirit, groan inwardly while we wait for adoption, the redemption of our bodies. 24For in hope we were saved. Now hope that is seen is not hope. For who hopes for what is seen? 25But if we hope for what we do not see, we wait for it with patience.”

So here we are, back in the valley, visions of glory burned into the memory of the heart. I’m unsure of what comes next, but I trust God’s imagination for the future much more than my own. I do not hope for what I see in front of me, but for what I do not see. And I wait for it with patience

Beyond Comes Home

Growing up, my dad always told me, “You have to say goodbye in order to say hello again.” We do not want to say goodbye to spirit filled moments and glorious creation. For many of our campers there won’t be another dock dance party “hello” to Base Camp and the summits of Beyond. Just as challenging as kicking steps up Mt. Albert, the alders of Mt. Pearkes or the physicality of a day five descent is figuring out how to say “hello” to our Beyond experiences when we are at home.

                                       

The first day of climbing Mt. Albert campers were filling time on the trail with mouthwatering descriptions of Thai food from their hometown. Two months later I was ordering off the menu of the infamous Thai restaurant at a table with my campers. Their faces were shiny, hair clean and one even clad in his Beyond t-shirt.

States away from the summits of Beyond these campers were glowing- reliving their hardships and celebrations on the mountain over a plate of pad thai noodles. Looking at the faces around the table I saw the Lord’s extravagant provision. The Lord met each of us in uniquely beautiful ways. It can be recognized by the different moments each individual chooses to share aloud- recalling the thunderous boom of the ice falls, the sunset after days of smoky forest fire skies, or the pride of completing the route. We spent our week on Mt. Albert tangibly trusting the Lord and observed provision and answered prayer. Now we each begin the adventures of fall trusting the Lord will provide extravagantly as we summit mountains in our hometowns.

When we finished our noodles we stood up as a group, and instead of giving pack love and heading back onto the trail, these campers walked out of the restaurant into their daily lives: leading in their hometown club and beginning senior year of high school, fitting all their belongings into their car and moving away to college, and navigating full time work. They were alive and full, taking the sweet moments of Beyond where they went. 

The Lord reminded me that Beyond comes home with each of us. There is no need to dread or fear “goodbye”. Beyond isn’t confined to the mountains, or Princess Louisa Inlet. The moments at Beyond become a part of us and we have the honor of carrying them to our destination of choice. We get to keep saying “hello”.

-Erin Donoghue

A sneak peak into a Beyond backpacking trip

I came to Beyond Malibu with an open mind but a few preconceived notions. My dear wife was a mountain guide up here, a bit over 30 years ago. I had the pleasure of traversing the Long Pearkes route with a group of young men, which included three of my sons — two of them being campers, and one as our guide. Coming into this backpacking trip, I knew we were to be tested physically, mentally, and spiritually in close Christian community.

Day 1 we climbed through dense alder trees on an overgrown logging road. The alders snagged on packs, and I found myself tripping over my feet often. Yet, their roots held the soil on the steep road in a way man-made products could not have done. I made it a game to avoid the pitfalls of the alders climb, and instead, marveled at the fortitude of the men who carved the road and prayed for strength.

Day 2 was a steeper climb into the alpine! On the fringes of the forest we found ripe juicy blueberries, which we stopped to enjoy….this break was a God-given excuse to rest my weary legs. We arrived at the saddle, and behold, the mountain beyond our ridge standing tall and proud in the sunshine. After lunch and an application of sunscreen, we had an extended quiet time in which I contemplated what it means to live in love (1 John 4)….the love that is greater than the faith that could move the mountains (1 Corinthians 13). We continued our hike, playing games and talking to distract ourselves until we reached camp. At camp we watched a threatening storm pass, and were left to enjoy our dinner comfortably as one of our guides shared his life story.

On the morning of day 3, we packed up camp and ate a quick breakfast.  We had snow school while our guides checked out our glacier crossing: setting ropes, allowing us to traverse the snowfield, and descend onto the rocks below. The snowfield was dirty with ash from recent wildfires, and very melted; it made kicking steps a bit tricky with our ice axes. After a butt slide (on belay) we reached the rock flats below and discussed our faith in the rope and compared it to our confidence in Christ (Hebrew 11). We ended our day hiking across a broad bowl into the sunshine at “Kingdom Come” campsite.  It had been a long and difficult day, and some of us had discovered, with the encouragement of the group, our greater strength (Isaiah 46).

It was good that we soaked up the expansive views the night before because the morning of Day 4 was a foggy one. We worked our way down through a tricky, technical climb and across another snowfield, trusting our guides entirely to navigate as it was obscured by fog. We were encouraged with a hot lunch and a Tim-Tam slam. After making the choice to continue hiking to “Beyond Heaven,” we were greeted with breathtaking views as the clouds parted. We formed a line, held hands, and praised God for such a gift.

Day 5, we gradually worked our way along the ridge and began a descent down a giant granite staircase. In the afternoon we reached “Maury’s Mound,” high above the Princess Louisa Inlet, where we set up camp and wrote letters to ourselves (encasing thoughts and feelings from the trip).

We were up early on Day 6 to prepare for the final descent. The rising sun illuminated each peak in the Inlet as the morning progressed. With the few technical sections, and the toughness of downhill on our bodies, it felt just as challenging as the first day. With high spirits we made it down and hopped on the boat waiting to take us back to base camp. Through the week we studied, meditated, and discussed faith, hope, and love. I can solidly take away that the greatest of these is LOVE, which nicely encapsulates the community that is Beyond.

Thanks all for an excellent adventure,

Bill Burgess

Wild and Free

Here I am, back at Beyond, the place I call home. After 3 years of guiding trips up and down these steep mountains, I am overcome with joy each time I see campers get off the boat and step onto the dock for the first time- clean hair, dry cotton clothes, with anxiousness and anticipation in their eyes. It’s a wonderful thing to contrast with Friday afternoons, when campers get back from their trips with dirty hair, sun on their cheeks, and an inexpressible and glorious joy in their hearts. If you’ve seen this before, you know what I’m talking about. “Beautiful,” I tell myself, “They are SO beautiful.” 

I have a vivid memory during my first summer of guiding in 2013 that I will never forget. It was 5:30 on a Saturday morning, when I looked at the friends in my guide class and said, “For the first time in my life, I feel beautiful.” It was a huge milestone for me as a woman and mountain guide. I had spent years comparing myself to others and believing that I would never be good enough, strong enough, or pretty enough- a theme I see in many participants’ lives. 

What is it about Beyond that makes us feel beautiful and free? Why is it that a camper can tell me after her trip that she has never felt more beautiful?! Surely it can’t be the “mountain funk” we obtain throughout a week in the mountains. Rather, it’s when we are stripped emotionally, physically, and spiritually (doesn’t that sound easy!). My mind continues to be blown away as I hear life story after life story from participants from all across the country- stories of broken families, addictions, pain, and sorrow. Like fragile jars of clay, we are all covered in cracks and imperfections, but when we allow Christ to fill us up, He shines through the cracks- and THAT is beautiful.

Guiding at Beyond has continued to remind me that God did not send his Son to die so that we would be hard on ourselves, feeling ugly in our brokenness. No! Christ died so that we could be free! So, whether it’s bathing in the ocean with my loofa and biodegradable soap, letting my big curly hair reach its maximum frizz, or allowing myself to become vulnerable, leading out of weakness and letting God work through my brokenness, I am forever grateful for the simple truth that God has reminded me for 3 summers: We are beautiful and free because of Christ. 

Blaire Tocher

The Mountain Top and the Valley

The mountains of Beyond truly call out to me and the need to answer is strong within me. Logging roads and thick brush, mossy forrest carpets and the exposed rock amphitheaters of peaks and cirques; the wonderlands we venture into each week hold secrets I’ve never found elsewhere. It is more than the physical beauty they hold though, for the mountains have become a safe place for me. It is a place where I know my worth- a place where I have a role and a purpose. It is a secret place where God meets me in quiet stillness with whispers and strong arms, a place where the confusion of my human emotion is set aside and my natural reliance on Him grows to be the only focus. The noise of city life, of authority and responsibility, of expectation and affirmation fades until the only voices I hear are those of companions in worship, voices ringing out in the night over the clouds. 

Yet I cannot remain in the mountains. We are not called to sit atop peaks in simplicity, selfishly soaking in the presence of God we find there. No, there is a city waiting below for stories, for sustenance, for hope. Though there is confusion and sometimes chaos in life at base camp, it is more like home. It is a community, authentic and real in its complications and struggles. It is, to me, a reflection of the messy, messy goodness of life with Christ. Time spent in prayer, hours spent working hard, and nights ending with worship, laughter, and tears. Though I often dream of leaving the valley behind and hiding away forever in God’s wilderness, in my heart I know that God is as present here as He is in the sky, as present in our darkness as He is in our joy. It takes courage to remain in the valley, to remain in our mess rather than run from it. In our mess God is working.  He is moving. He is healing. It requires faith to stay and meet Him here. For now I look out into the mountains, a place I know kids are encountering their Creator, and I hold onto the hope they offer, that I will not always be in the valley but for now it is where I need to stay. 

Aiden Church

Waiting Expectantly

Waiting expectantly does not mean sitting back and watching God answer prayers exactly how I imagine them. To wait expectantly I have learned, is to die to the idea that I know what is best for me and have faith and anticipation for all that God has for me, regardless of what I ask. Waiting expectantly has taught me to loosen my plans for the week, and embrace the unknown with a new found confidence in God’s promises. 

We spend days before the trip reading about our participants, planning spiritual content to best address their group goals, figuring out how far to hike, when the rappel will happen, and which night we will have our “mexi meal.”  When I wait expectantly and turn my palms open to all of the uncertainty of guiding at Beyond, I am comforted by the thought of the thousands of other believers who have been standing exactly in my boots. Standing at the crossroads of self preservation and self abandonment into life to the full. 

“For the Lord himself goes before you and he will be with you, he will never leave you, nor forsake you. Do not be afraid, do not be discouraged.” Please pray that we may all find time in our mornings to wait expectantly and to enter boldly into the fear and adventure of trusting Jesus with every detail and request of our lives, believing that He is always with us and is using all the elements of His creation to have us draw nearer to Him. Even if it makes us wildly uncomfortable. 

To Him be the Glory. Go Beyond.

- Adam Iverson 

Attempting to Fly

After four training weekends, countless hours of homework, a wilderness first aid course, and a ten-day training (in which we put all our knowledge to use), we were sent off into the mountains for our first trip. I’m the type of person who likes a lot of time to pack and prepare for things long in advance. Despite three months of doing just that, campers arrived and my state of receiving them was similar to that of a bird who had just attempted to fly through a clear glass window. And then, after a hard smack of rejection flutters around stunned on the ground. It took me about three days to get my legs back under me, before I felt like I came to and was tracking where I was and what I was there to do. The majority of my first week out in the mountains, I felt more scattered than any of the campers and I found a constant smattering of my things throughout our campsite- surrounding my pack. At one point I came over to find my co-guide packing my bag for me with a patient smile. Later I was told, “Welcome to being a first year” and to expect to feel this way (one step behind the rest) throughout the summer. Before we headed out of camp, we asked our campers their fears and expectations. Several of them told us boldly that they expected to have an encounter with God this week- expecting that He had some big things to teach them. What a daunting expectation to be voiced when I wasn’t sure we would ever get out of base camp! I know that as guides we are here to serve the campers and help facilitate their journey into the mountains, to create space for them to experience God through His creation. However, my human tendency was to stress out about what the campers were experiencing… as if I could better their communication with the Creator. The beautiful thing was, that amidst my chaos and human weaknesses, God was hard at work.
 The first few days, amongst my flustered state, it was difficult to see any evidence that God was meeting the participants expectations. However, slowly, as life stories unfolded we began to see old, unhealed wounds resurface and participants began to engage in prayer that had been silent at the start. One participant shared about the loss of parent. At the beginning of the trip, she portrayed an independent, self-sufficient, hard exterior. As the final days in the mountains passed, we watched her heart soften and ability to accept love and help grow. It is tough to describe the emotions you experience as you hear stories and deep, previously unspoken, emotions come pouring out of people. When else in life do we take time to dive deep into our hearts to identify and share our joys, passions, pain or sorrow with others?
 This first trip awed me. After our final ten day training trip I thought I was prepared for anything. We experienced all types of storms: high winds that shredded our tents in the middle of the night, lightning drills, sideways snow in a whiteout, freezing rain- I thought I was prepared for everything. Then, on the last day of descent with my campers, we hit the alder trees. My frustration hit a boiling point (that I was shocked to discover) and I found myself whacking every branch that snapped at me as if I could get back at it. Branches would slap me in the face, and then snag my pack and yank me backward. I have fully realized that I am on a journey much like the campers and I am definitely not in control. I do know that God is working intricately in a powerful way to meet me in those weaknesses. I have been truly humbled to witness how much work he was able to do as I stumbled along acting as the ‘guide’.
- Hannah Gary

Surprises

When I came to Beyond, I expected that being a guide would be spiritually challenging yet refining, exhausting yet life-giving, and emotionally draining yet encouraging. I knew that I came to serve. What I didn’t expect was that I would actually be having fun as well. 

Last week I headed out with my guide partner and campers to trek Long Pearkes. It was a grueling first two days. At times I felt like a slave driver as I kept telling the participants that we had to keep going even though they had blisters, tired legs, and were fed up with the branches slapping their faces. We got into camp later than planned and had less time than we wanted for planned spiritual content (Bible studies, quiet times, life stories, etc.). 

On day three everything changed. Due to a variety of factors, my guide partner and I decided we were unable to cross the Long Pearkes glacier and would need to change routes. As a mountain guide I felt defeated, dreading the time when I would have to tell our campers about the route change. I had to give up my own desire to test my physical limits and complete the epic route for the sake of overall safety. I had to embrace the mystery as my first trip became full of the unexpected. 

In the end, the situation turned out much better than I anticipated. For me, this had been a reoccurring theme associated with Beyond Malibu. God redeemed the situation and blew my mind with His sovereign goodness. The participants were overjoyed at the news of the route change; it meant less hiking and more time to be together and alone with God. This was the day that I started having fun as a mountain guide. I was able to be less task-oriented and more people-oriented.  With the route change, our group now had more time to hear everyone’s life stories, pray, laugh, cry, and overall be present with each other in some of God’s most beautiful creation.

As the week went on, I was pleasantly surprised to find myself enjoying the taping and re-taping of feet, purifying forty liters of water at a time, cooking amongst the seemingly endless bug swarms, and engaging in conversations on the trail, despite physical exhaustion.

In a few days I leave for my second trip as a guide. I’ll be okay if it’s not as enjoyable as my first trip. But I have a feeling that this whole guiding thing might really continue to be more fun than I imagined. Maybe that’s what God likes to do when we follow His lead into the unknown… surprise us. 

-Joey Hope