Six years ago, I served as an assistant basketball coach at a university in Texas. The first week on the job, the head coach (my boss) walked into my office with the other assistant coach and declared, “Boys, we’re going on a road trip. We need to spend some time with each other out of the office.” As he said this, he placed on my desk an 8 x 10 photo of Pike’s Peak, one of the largest mountain summits in the U.S. “We’re going to climb Pike’s Peak in one day.”

My heart went in my stomach. Though I’d played college basketball I had spent all my time the previous year in the library studying theology—I was in no shape to do this. Neither were my two friends.

We drove from West Texas to the Colorado Springs area the night before we were to climb. I informed my friends that I needed to go to Wal-Mart. “Why?” they inquired. “Because I need some supplies.” “You mean you didn’t bring anything with you?” “I brought my shorts, running shoes and a few granola bars.” “Are you serious?” “Yes, I’m serious.” A long pause ensued.

We over-slept the next morning. This is a crucial detail because the window for summiting Pike’s Peak is small during August. That is, you can get caught in a lightning storm or blizzard if you don’t summit before early afternoon.

The first stretch of the hike was fine save the fact that I thought my heart was going to burst. Apparently this whole “acclamation” thing that real hikers talk about is serious business. We got to the half way point in decent shape. I should note that it’s called the half way point but it’s really like the 1/3 point because the next stretch of terrain is much more difficult than the beginning part. About an hour into this second portion of the hike, the temperature begins to drop and I’m thinking that my shorts, tank-top, and three dollar Wal-Mart pull-over might not get the job done. All of the sudden, lightning began ripping through the sky. Here, in this moment of fright, I gained one of my first lessons in hiking. When a 6’4″ human is walking beyond the tree line, said person becomes the tree. We were totally exposed and in a dangerous place.

One of us in the group, I can’t remember who, became convinced (probably due to a lack of oxygen) that our cell phones were conductors and that we needed to throw them down the side of the mountain. Slightly less dumb heads prevailed and we continued to walk. About thirty minutes into the lightning storm, a blizzard broke out. I’ve seen my share of snow (I grew up in a city surrounded by lakes—we invented lake effect snow) but nothing like this. It came out of nowhere. I could barely see five feet ahead of me. After another thirty minutes or so of walking in this blizzard with the lightning, we found a cave. It was like finding a pool of water in the middle of a dry desert. We huddled inside the cave (one member of our group tried calling his wife in case he didn’t “make it”) only to find there were some other hikers inside the cave. These hikers, who looked professional compared to the look-what-the-cat-drug-in crew before their eyes, were warming themselves with special blankets (I came to find out later they were space blankets). “What on God’s green earth are you doing here?” one man asked. I thought I’d be helpful and replied, “We’re trying to make it to the Summit.” I can’t repeat what he said to me. Actually I can, I just might have to attend an impromptu elders breakfast in the morning if I repeat (on this blog) what he said.

Here’s the gist of his message: you don’t belong up here. You have not prepared. You don’t have a guide (Pike’s Peak at the time was the highest climb available to people without guides); you don’t know where you are going or what you are doing. People die every week on this mountain because they think they can do this alone but they can’t.

Before you think I’m totally inept (mostly inept and totally inept are two different things), contrast that experience with another I had just a few years later after the Pike’s Peak Disaster. Right after we’d moved back to Michigan to begin full-time ministry work post grad/undergraduate school, a life-long friend and mentor approached me: “I know you’ve just finished a marathon of sorts,” he said alluding to the 84 hour masters degree I’d just completed, but I’ve got another marathon for you—an actual one.

To this point in my life, I’d been a jogger not a runner. I had not interest in doing a marathon. Except for the fact that I knew I’d get to be around Andy a lot if I decided to do this. Andy was the kind of person I wanted to be (highly disciplined, devout in his reading, terrific father/husband). I said “yes” to train for one of the more grueling events I know of, (who runs 26 miles on purpose?), because I wanted to be around Andy. Fred Craddock told an audience once, in my hearing, “I’m a six mile runner. In my life, I’ve run a total of 6 miles. Quarter mile, eighth of a mile there. I’m a six mile runner.”

The training was intense, different than anything basketball ever threw my way. Much more mental than physical. My feet bruised all over. My body went through all kinds of exhaustion and cramping. I stuck with it thought because I had a great mentor, someone who’d walk me through what was coming; someone who could take to a place he had already been. I remember one Friday morning (about 4am) we met at the park to run twenty miles. Up to that point this was the longest distance I’d ever run. It rained the entire time. I was soaked to my bones. I caught a flight to Purdue University a few hours later where I was to speak at a retreat for a campus ministry. Of course, there was a mix-up, and we did not have rooms to sleep in that night.

But I smiled a big smile as I slept on the floor of that cafeteria, cold tile below my back, because I’d met the test, not with perfection, but with grit and grace. Truth be told, the actual marathon experience was a bit of a letdown. I was glad to have done it, but it was not was I’d expected. I’d envisioned the theme music to Rocky playing with Kara standing at the finish line as I passed three Kenyans on my way to the finish line. The end was hardly that dramatic. In fact, I hate my finish photo because there are a few people who, let’s just say were not in marathon shape, are in front of me in the photo making it look like they beat me when they had only run a three mile leg for a large relay team. I’m over it. Really.

It was in the preparation, that I came to like running. It was in the training that I changed.

And so it is with our life in God’s love. God’s grace drenches the entire planet. There’s not a single secular molecule in the universe. God is screaming to us, if only we could hear more clearly. But, we have to respond. Because God is not a dictator, he’s a lover. And, it takes two to tango (God and God’s people).

Adversity, suffering, pain, and trial are coming. These are the gifts no one wants. C.S. Lewis wrote “We are not necessarily doubting that God will do the best for us; we are wondering how painful the best will turn out to be.” If we’ve been so moved by the grace of God as to prepare for what life brings our way, we don’t have to be afraid and we can begin, because of the perspective that disciplines provide, to realize that pain and suffering might actually be odd and holy gifts . After all, pain reminds us: 1) we are still alive 2) things are not as they should be 3) perhaps things can one day be as they should and 4)I am not, alone, I am not enough to get through it.

This is why these scriptures are so important to the Christian community at large: “If anyone would come after me, he must deny himself and take up his cross and follow me,” (Mk. 8:34). “And whatever you do, whether in word or deed, do it all in the name of the Lord Jesus,” (Col. 3:17). “Since we are surrounded by such a great cloud of witnesses, let us throw off everything that hinders and the sin that so easily entangles, and let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us,” (Heb. 12:1).