Crevices

“…You can’t always get what you want.
But if you try sometimes well you might find,
You get what you need.”
(1969) “You Can’t Always get What You Want” – Recorded By: The Rolling Stones Composers: Mick Jagger & Keith Richard.

I will preface the below by stating, I have no idea if this has anything to do with the new year ahead.

Watching her, in her mountain climbing gear, scaling up the side of this incredibly steep, rocky red cliffside, I wondered why this stranger felt she had to climb it. The mountain’s top half to the peak was narrow, without sand or soil, just a shear rock, three-sided pinnacle in what you might find in the Arizona desert. I was hot, thirsty, and my mouth felt full of the desert sands. It was uncomfortable. I wasn’t where I wanted to be, or needed to be. Or was I? No doubt, she felt the same.

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Her struggle against the giant rock was fierce, steaming, and without signs of submission. The athletic abilities were impressive, but what may have been more impressive was her inner strength to conquer. A moment of jealousy kicked in. One would believe the cliff would be impossible to negotiate, yet there she was, fully dependent upon her spikes, rope, and footholds.

Frankly, while I gazed at the climber’s grit, as she scaled the flat mountainside in her cleats and gloves, I must admit to fearing the moment ahead when I would transition from a casual observer, to a witness of the death of a stranger.

As she approached the last fifty feet to the pencil-like summit, she intentionally unloaded her backpack, allowing it to fall to the base of her rocky challenge. It was clear, all of her tools for survival were bundled in her backpack, spilling out on impact splattered on the desert floor below. Curiosity took over even more as concern for her welfare grew deep inside of me. How would she survive the ongoing battle against this natural skyscraper? Exhaustion or gravity, or both, would be her enemy.

With half the afternoon gone, the peak became reachable as she scaled her way to the last twenty-five feet. The pitch of the rockface was brutal, with only small crevices along the red stone precipice as a saving grace.

Photo by Roussety Gregory on Pexels.com

Her legs were stretched, reaching the precious footholds to her left and right. Her hands were gripping the various sized crevices above her. Like a wise chess player, with every ounce of strength in her body, she carefully studied her next footholds, her next crevice to gain the the rock’s summit. Then, like a spider on a wall, the athlete pulled herself up to a small ledge just below the peak. There, she rested, sitting on a welcomed stone shelf awaiting her.

With a sigh of relief, I began to turn to go on my own way, when suddenly I captured a satisfying smile on her face. She appeared to be looking inside two crevices just above the surface of the ledge itself. My head cocked a bit as I attempted to guess at what she seemed to be happy to discover. Reaching her hand inside what appeared to be a deep crevice, she pulled out a tin cup in her sweating hand. Reaching into the other crevice, she discovered a metal ruler, a meter in length. Revisiting the crevice, she removed a liter of bottled water, a packed nylon lunchbox, a blanket, several crampons, a chisel, a harness, and a bundle of rope. To my amazement, she suddenly had all she needed for the rest of her challenging journey.

To this very day, I do not know who left the goods in the last crevices of the summit. Part of me wondered if she had climbed this rockface before and left herself a survival kit for future climbs. Another part of me came to another conclusion. Could it be, other climbers deposited the goods in the crevices, as an act of goodwill for the next adventurer? Either way, she got what she so desperately needed.

After I was awakened by this dream, I immediately heard an old hymn running through my mind.

” He hideth my soul in the cleft of the rock,
That shadows a dry, thirsty land;
He hideth my life in the depths of His love,
And covers me there with His hand,

And covers me there with His hand.”
(1890) “He Hideth My Soul” – Composer: Fanny Crosby

Sometimes, and I truly mean the word, a dream can be a message to the dreamer. If I were a wiseman, surely I could roll out its interpretation to you here and now. But, alas, I cannot. Maybe, just maybe, the interpretation is relative to the reader.

If there’s one thing I have learned in my life, it’s the fact that when in expectation, God is willing, ready, and able to answer my questions.

When exhausted, thirsty, and struggling, there are crevices awaiting you in fuel for the race.

“Who has cleft a channel for the torrents of rain and a way for the thunderbolt, to bring rain on a land where no man is, on the desert in which there is no man, to satisfy the waste and desolate land, and to make the ground sprout with grass?” – Job 38:25-27 (ESV)

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