I stepped again looking at the back of the legs of those ahead of me, my glasses covered in mist, my hands reaching for anything that gave me a third point of stabilization, my heart pounding and my lungs gasping. Hikers packed the trail with stopping reserved for the occasional side platform graciously planned for those not conditioned for the steep climb.

Some, like myself, underestimated the amount of mist the Mist Trail contained. My mind imagined gentle clouds of mist in the distance, making for beautiful misty photos of a mysterious waterfall. In reality, the mist pervaded the area around the waterfalls, blowing up into our faces, coating all it touched with beads of water.

I confess I wore a rain jacket that day only because the forecast predicted rain, not because we planned to hike Mist Trail. Usually I do more than my fair share of research but recently I’m trying a new thing and not obsessively researching for family vacations. I did research our housing when I read about how we needed to use bear lockers. That seemed significant, but Mist Trail sounded ethereal and compelling and beautiful and the “moderate” level sounded doable.

At points on the trail I faced the potential reality that “light” best described my true hiking level.

But I kept going, one foot and one step and then another, thankful that I’d accidentally gotten trail shoes instead of running shoes a few weeks before. Each step felt sticky and I never slipped. Did that mean I was confident? Oh no! I encountered each step like it could send me to the bottom of the falls in a tangled heap, much to the chiding of some in my family.

At one rest place right before the last push to the top, we caught up with the boys who expressed they’d waited a very long time for us to catch up. Those mountain goats were snacked up and ready to go again. Before they tackled the last stretch of stairs we enjoyed the view right below the falls. The mist provided perfect conditions for a rainbow and the constant roar of the water somehow calmed me.

Beauty surrounded us and the power and majesty of mountains and pounding water humbled me as it did a while later as we waited again to consolidate our hiking group for lunch. We got to sit and observe and notice what only gets noticed with time.

I’d hoped our vacation being in a majestic place like Yosemite would bring life into clearer perspective as it often does.

In some ways it did.

In other ways clarity came as I absorbed more deeply the realities of the strenuous climb that life can be in certain seasons. The clearer perspective came in affirming and accepting that the path right now really is strenuous and feels beyond me. It takes my everything to take the next step of faith in some areas of life, to believe I can make it to a rest stop, to believe that God will provide a place to catch my breath or give me the breath I need to keep going. To trust that the climb is worth it and that there might even be beauty along the way…

that I might enjoy it more for what it costs me.

What’s even harder is knowing some around me are facing a strenuous climb and it feels like I can only hike in breathless silence near them–on a parallel path but unable to climb for them. Will they make it? Will they take the next step? Will the beauty along the way even be noticed or appreciated?

The next two days my legs barely functioned. Because going up to the falls meant that one must come down the same way, especially if one cannot make it to the top of the second set of falls and take the path around. Every step off a curb or down stairs the next few days was a decision to suffer and illicited a grunt of pain, much to the vocal and triumphant lack of understanding that teen boys like to exploit, being so young and fit.

I’m reminded often that no one thing on the journey I’m on is going to resolve what needs resolving just like no snack or rest stop or shoes or pep talk meant the Mist Trail wasn’t “moderately” difficult. I’m also reflecting on what does help on the difficult trails of life–the company, the training, and the truth that it’s not forever all aid taking the next steep step.

I often think about something a fellow writer once observed about some current views on spiritual journeys–that many talk of the journey of faith more as a wandering around with no destination when in fact as followers of Jesus, there is a destination that will be reached one day.

And while the journey may feel wandering at times, in fact, God’s purposes embeds even the experiences of wandering in seasons that feel like a wilderness.

So if you’re on a hard stretch of the hike right now, I get it a little. I pray encouraging companions surround you, eternal perspective settles you, and the Truth empowers you to keep going.