It Will Be Worth it at the Top (South Africa Journal, January 19, 2011)

So much of what we do seems meaningless. I don't say that to sound negative or dismal. When you think about life--at least the way that most of us live it--most of our daily activities are not memorable. On Friday, most of us won't remember what we were doing at 7:21 pm on Monday night. That's just the way things go. Time passes while we go about the tasks that fill our days. Days become weeks bleeding into months sneaking into years. And at the end of it all, do we really feel that most of our time spent was meaningful? Have all of the steps I've taken meant something? If they have then I certainly can't see what they all mean or how they all fit in to the journey.

This past Saturday, along with my 11 compatriots, I made the trek up Table Mountain, South Africa's most famous. While I was in better shape (better than I even gave myself credit for) for the endeavor than I'd anticipated, it was far from easy--especially at midday. Most of trip up is at extreme angles, using large stone steps. The peaks loom far overhead, and just when you feel you've made some progress, you realize that the path cuts off to the left or right for another hundred yards or so before you can continue your upward progression. There are points where you can't help asking yourself, Why am I doing this? All I see in front of me are stone steps. Above me, the mountain taunts, seemingly taking a few steps back every time I take one. Where is the meaning? What is this accomplishing? I want shade. I want to sit down on a block of ice and then take a nap. Then I'll get up and finish. Tomorrow.

We pressed on and finally made it. The top is mostly flat and can be picked out even as you fly into Capetown--hence the name. My brain is screaming at me for more liquid; I've made it this far with about 20 ounces--something I was proud of myself for until about 20 minutes after I ran out. But something gives me pause as I stumble up the last few steps. There is nothing but the expansive emptiness of sky above me. Aside from the sounds of other jubilant and exhausted voices, there is complete stillness. I am, quite literally, on top of the world. Every direction I turn I can see where sky meets ocean. Breathtaking in this case doesn't even begin to do it justice, and the most beautiful camera lens could not capture this moment. I turn around and look back from the direction we came. Between the two peaks we came between to reach the top, I can see the entire city. I can't see the bottom, but for the most part I'm able to distinguish our path up the mountainside. Part of me feels like it wasn't even me that made the journey.

It's because the journey is what changes us. It's not the beginning or the end. It's what got us through. It's what pushed and pulled us, from the first chapter to the last. The things that kept us moving even after we'd lost track of the "why's" and "how's". We won't always feel like our steps have meaning. Sometimes we can see our destination. More often we may not even know there is one. But now and again, we have the opportunity to turn around. To see where we came from. How far God brought us. And when we reach our destination, whether it's in this life or the next one, we will see the value in each meaningless step. The purpose in the menial progression. It will be worth the wait, I promise.