Long's Peak: Voices In the Dark

This post was originally published on my first blog, "Dad's Corner." You can view the original post at: http://homeschoolblogger.com/stevewalden/8403/

It had been a long day. Rising before 4 AM, we climbed 8 miles and 4,880 feet in elevation to the summit of Longs Peak, a huge mountain dominating Colorado's Front Range. One of the last parties to reach the summit that day, the sun was setting on us while we were less than halfway down. The fact that we had forgotten to bring flashlights was not lost on us, but there was little we could do. With just a little light left, we came to a group of tents and asked if anyone could spare a flashlight. We ended up with a small flashlight for our party of 4. That and the faint glow of moonlight was all we had to guide us home. Our legs aching and our toes complaining with every step, we carefully picked our way through boulders and down the trail. All the way down, my dad's voice continued to coach me and his faint outline gave me an idea of where to go.

Still, going down the trail was not as easy as it was going up. The path I had known in the daylight was different in the darkness. Boulders and rocks and roots and even the path itself conspired to trip me and end my trek with the snap of a bone or the turn of an ankle. It was slow. It was painful. And the end didn't seem to get any closer.

We have all known trails like this in one sense or another, some literally and some figuratively. Through times of sickness, pain, grief or danger, we have walked with only a flashlight or moonlight to guide us. It is slow and painful and the end of our walk in the dark is no where in sight. But there are voices in the dark and faint outlines of where we should go. We are not left alone in the darkness.

Likewise, we lead other trekkers, most importantly our own children. How we meet the darkness in our own lives will guide our children's response to the darkness in their own. When my father nearly tripped over a rock or even saw something he perceived as a threat, he'd warn me to watch out. I didn't look down on my dad for not being able to see the rock he'd stubbed his toes on. Instead, I was thankful for the warnings, both to keep me from harm and to remind me to be vigilant.