A few weeks ago, I went on a memorable hike with my kids. We drove nearly an hour on a rough pot-holed dirt road to get to the parking lot of the hiking trail. This particular hike started from an elevated height. From the parking lot of the trail head, the view was already amazing. If we had wanted to, we could have taken some pictures, got back in the car and gone home, and it would have been memorable.
But we wanted to climb higher.
After about 10 minutes of hiking, there was a beautiful overlook where the view was even better! We climbed higher. After another 20 minutes and a bit of rough terrain where we lost sight of the valley down below, the mountain opened to a jaw-dropping view of all the surrounding mountains, the Columbia river, and our town way off in the distance. We took more pictures. We could have stopped there, hiked back, and drove home and it would have been memorable.
But we wanted to climb higher.
The next 20 minutes consisted of rough terrain with a narrow path through the trees, large rocks we had to climb up, and even some leftover snow and mud we had to trample through. We found ourselves almost on the other side of the mountain with a completely different beautiful view. We rested, ate some food, and admired that view for a while. We could have stopped there.
But we wanted to climb higher.
Now we thought we could see the top. We hiked to that point, but then realized there was another peak even higher. We pressed on, but as soon as we got to that peak, there was another peak even higher we hadn’t seen before. At each of these peaks the views were amazing, almost a full surrounding panorama of the mountain and the valleys down below. But it wasn’t until we reached these peaks that we realized there was more to go. One of my sons began to express frustration that it was going to be too hard and take too long to reach the top, and we should stop and head back. We all talked about it, and agreed to press on.
We wanted to climb higher.
Finally, after submerging ourselves in more dense trees, snow, and fog, we rose above the tree line. After 20 more minutes of walking, we arrived at the summit of the mountain. It was absolutely gorgeous. A complete 360 view of the surrounding mountain and land down below.
The mountain is called Silver Star Mountain in Washington state. It gets its name from five star-like ridges that radiate outward from its summit. Each of these ridges contain multiple paths and different trails stretching out in each direction. It wasn’t until we reached the summit of Silver Star Mountain that we could see that these ridges and other trails came together at the very top.
My kids and I sat for a while eating food, taking pictures, and admiring the beauty. Then we made our way back down.
For the past 20 years of my life, I feel like I’ve been climbing a similar mountain trail.
I started this trail from a good place with an amazing perspective. I had a positive outlook on life, a simple understanding of who God was and that I was His child and that He loved me. My parents, family, ancestors, and heritage had “driven me up the mountain” so to speak, over the pot-holed dirt roads, to this elevated trail head. I didn’t fully understand this then, but I’ve come to realize over the years that I was raised with quite a bit of privilege. I had my own struggles in my youth, of course, but I can acknowledge that my upbringing provided me a leg up as I ventured off on my own into adulthood.
I’ve always believed that God loves all of His children and wants them to return to be with Him some day. But my understanding of this idea has shifted, expanded, and deepened as I’ve hiked along my mountain trail.
The scenic pictures I took from my proverbial mountainside trailhead parking lot taught me that God loves all of His children that choose to follow Him on His path. I felt at that time that it was my responsibility and duty to go out into the world and help others understand what that path was and how to follow it. So I did. And that took me up the trail to my first overlook. I elevated my perspective and stepped outside of my familiar world to teach God’s word to His children in a foreign country with strangers that spoke a different language, ate different food, and thrived in a very different culture.
My perspective of God’s love for His children started to expand.
What I saw from this foreign overlook was beautiful and inspiring. It motivated me to continue on the path. It was not easy, and sometimes I could feel myself occasionally getting lost in the weeds of duties and responsibilities as I served. When it came time to leave this foreign country and the people that I grew to love so much, I felt I had arrived at my first jaw-dropping view of the world and the people around me. I had spent so much time with these children of God who lived different lives and had different challenges than I would ever have to face, and it gave me a deep appreciation for their tenacity, strength and resilience.
I learned that God loves all His children, even those that don’t look like me, act like me, and those that might not choose to follow His path yet. Some day, on His timing, I believed that God would prepare them, and they would be ready to follow His path. I took my mental snapshots of this elevated perspective I’d gained and I tucked the photos away in a safe place. Somewhere I could access them in future moments of confusion or anxiety to help me remember what the view looked like from here. I could have stopped there and been perfectly content.
But I wanted to climb higher.
Little did I know that the roughest terrain on my spiritual mountain was yet ahead. The next several years were some trying times for me with some very big ups, and very low downs. I traveled internationally to eastern Europe and China performing with a collegiate dance team. I met more of God’s children that didn’t look or live like me. I learned more about foreign customs, food, beliefs, and culture. I struggled through college exams, essays, classes, and projects. I barely graduated. I dated, fell in love, and got married. I stressed about important decisions I had to make for my future.
I felt I had climbed through to the other side of my metaphorical mountain. I emerged from the trees and found myself on the breathtaking overlook of fatherhood. I had heard about this view, I knew it was coming. I planned for it. I wanted it. And now I was experiencing it. The love I felt for that tiny human, and the others that followed over the next few years, shattered all my perceptions of God’s love for His children. If this was how God, my Heavenly Father, felt about me, then I was in good hands. I took many, MANY mental, emotional, and literal photos of my early fatherhood overlook. I knew these years would pass much too quickly, and I wanted to savor every single second. I felt that this level of love was just the beginning of something incredible.
I wanted to climb higher.
As these children grew and became little people with personalities, attitudes, passions, talents, and dreams, I continued on the path up my ennobling mountain trail. As a father to these children, I felt my own perception of God’s love for His children began to shift. I realized that there was nothing that could keep my kids from me. No matter what mistakes they would make, problems they faced, or paths they chose, the love I felt for them would never change. My love for them is not conditional upon their obedience, good deeds, devotion, or fulfilment of parental expectations. The love I feel and express to them is freely given and they will always be welcome back into my home and my embrace, no matter what.
I began to pull out these mental snapshots I’d taken at previous overlooks, admiring the beauty in them, but also observing that for me, the view was only partial. God loves all of his children, yes, that much has always been true for me. But what about those children that never choose to follow His path as I understood and taught it? What about those that engage in different avenues of faith and devotion? Or those that choose to love and express love in different ways? What of those billions of children of God that have their own faith traditions and culture completely separate from the gospel of Jesus Christ as I was taught, yet just as valid and faith promoting for their lives, family, and community? They may never feel the desire to accept my understanding of the gospel of Jesus Christ in this life or the next. What happens to them? Is that the limit of God’s love? Does He still love them but not enough to welcome them back into His presence and His embrace?
I pondered these questions as I walked my pensive parental path.
I wanted to climb higher.
Every peak I climb to, it seems like that might be the top, and I could stop there. But once I get there, I see another peak, another viewpoint, another perspective that I hadn’t realized or thought of before. I begin to listen to other people’s stories. I begin to read books about other people’s lives. I learn from experiences that are not my own. As I climb higher on this mountain trail, I’ve realized that my view, my life, my experience, is only a partial view. A beautiful, important, necessary, and inspiring view for me. But limited to my own life experience. I could yell passionately at the top of my lungs how breathtaking and empowering my view is, and it might even be inspiring to those within the sound of my voice along a similar path. But it’s not going to mean that much to anyone hiking a completely separate path on the other side of the mountain. That doesn’t mean I shouldn’t share my experience, on the contrary, I absolutely should! If you’ve experienced joy, light, pain and hardship, by all means share it with the world! But I have to remember that there are multiple trails to the summit of this mountain. Just because my trail worked for me, doesn’t mean it will work for someone else.
The only way to see someone else’s trail is to climb higher.
As I attempt to understand the world around me, one thing that causes me pain and often anger is observing how people treat others that make different choices than they do. The most disturbing part is that this is often done in the name of God. Someone who’s hiked along a trail that worked for them, stopped at a viewpoint that they valued and made sense to them, and now feels the need to shout at the top of their lungs to the world around them that everyone that isn’t on their path looking at their viewpoint, is wrong. That God condemns any trail that isn’t the one that they followed and they understand. It sparks contention, hate, and contempt. It causes sadness, anxiety, depression, and death. It’s so overwhelming and so pervasive, even within what should be loving homes, churches, and communities, that people give up. They lose all hope in God and humanity to the point that they wander aimlessly.
All of this contempt is all for nothing. Everyone’s hiking the same mountain. Nobody’s trail or viewpoint is wrong or right. Just incomplete.
The only way to see someone else’s trail is to climb higher.
If God is the ultimate example of a loving parent, then He surely loves all of His children the same way I love my children. And not only loves us, but accepts us. As we are. As He made us. And there is nothing that can keep us from Him.
I don’t have all the answers. Most of the time I don’t know what I’m doing. But I feel like my understanding of God’s love for His children has deepened. I no longer believe that God’s love and desire to be with His children again is reserved for those that follow one specific path, in this life or the next. I believe He is much, MUCH bigger than that, in a way we just can’t comprehend. There is more than one way back to our heavenly home.
I try to look at others of different faith, culture, race, religion, sexual orientation, self expression and identity, practices, ideas, and behaviors, and I no longer feel the need to teach, but to learn. To listen. To show empathy, share ideas, and express love. I no longer presume that my way of doing things is the right way for everyone. I’m happy to share my journey, if anyone finds it helpful. But I’d rather spend time learning about the unfamiliar trails.
I want to continually climb higher. I don’t see the summit yet, I just see the next peak.
At the end of the day, the most important thing in my life is my family. What kind of values do I want to teach my children? Do I want them to follow a specific path that worked for me? Or do I give them the tools and skills necessary for carving their own path in life? Or perhaps it’s a mixture of both. I don’t really have a good answer, I’m still raising them and figuring out how to do this parent thing.
But perhaps, as a loving parent, the best thing I can do is take them on a hike. Help them find joy and beauty along a mountain trail. Encourage them to keep going. To climb higher to the next peak. To strive for the summit. And once we’re there, I can show them that, just like Silver Star Mountain, there’s more than one way to get to the top.
Mikey He Writes It 