They call it a “Sunrise Summit.” The goal is to reach the summit by sunrise, and watch the world awaken around you from over 16,000 ft of elevation. As the guys began to stir and the world was still dark, I knew it was time. I rolled out of bed and packed up my sleeping bag. I’d worn to bed what I’d hike in on this long, cold day, threw on my boots and was ready to go. Kind of. My stomach began to rebel, a queasiness building. Was it the altitude catching up with me? Was it something from dinner last night? We all knew the powdered milk in our tea and coffee wasn’t sitting well with anyone…was it the interrupted night sleep, or just plain nerves? What I wouldn’t give for a banana in that moment! Instead, we were served a breakfast of popcorn and cookies. I sat there uneasy about beginning the longest, most grueling day yet, and was relieved when one of the four cousins offered to share with me a zophran (nausea med). I munched some popcorn and waited for our guides to be ready. In the corner, I overheard M giving instructions to his son J, “You won’t run ahead today. We will summit together, we will stay as a group. I knew this was for my sake, both smiling as I felt looked after and cared for, and nervous as that meant everyone was relying on me to reach the summit.

“Mama,” our guide said to me (as the only woman, that is what our Kenyan friends were calling me), “You will be in the front, followed by M, then the others.” The slowest two got to lead the way. “M,” he then asked, “Will you lead us in a word of prayer before we begin?”

One foot in front of the other, a slow slog began. In the first five minutes I was relieved- this pace I could keep. We were by NO means moving quickly. Our patient guide knew the toll on our bodies the incline and elevation took, and was experienced enough to set the pace slow. Ten minutes in and I was already needing to shed a layer. I’d worn four layers on top knowing it would be chilly with the darkness enveloping us. Another ten minutes passed and we’d caught the four cousins whose guide had been ready before ours. Another layer shed. We played cat and mouse with the cousins, stopping when L got a bloody nose from the dry air, and for someone else to shed one of their layers. In my mind, we were now summitting together. When they stopped, we would stop.

“Strength will rise as we wait upon the Lord… wait upon the Lord we will wait upon the Lord.”

Up, up and up we went, one foot in front of the other. I couldn’t see where we were going with only my headlamp to light the way.

“You do not faint you won’t grow weary…”

Occasionally a glance up showed tiny dots in the distance of the next group ahead, impossibly high up on the mountainside.

“You comfort those in need… you lift us up on wings like eagles…”

The cousins behind us were ready for a break. Perfect. I’d get my breather.

“Okay- I think I need a break.” I expressed between puffs of air. Our guide didn’t stop, he just kept plodding forward.

“Strength will rise as we….” I was fading fast. Each step was effort, each breath felt like I was in the middle of a six mile run, even, steady breathing, but regular inhale-exhales that took thought, not the forgettable lung work of normal existence. My heart was racing as my body worked to pump the blood through my veins, needing to carry more blood than normal to get the right amount of oxygen to my muscles in the thin air.

“I think there is a stopping place just up there.” M behind me said. We pushed on.

“You do not faint…” I was weary. We’d been hiking almost two hours. We’d barely moved a mile. I didn’t know if I could lift my hiking boot another step. Gosh I hadn’t realized how heavy those boots were!

Finally a respite. Our guides tossed down their packs. We’d be coming back this way! I would be lying if I didn’t tell you my thought at that moment wasn’t, “Leave me with the bags!” A sip of water. I felt my heart slowing and my breaths level out. Those four cousins were long in the past, we’d left them, our guide knowing that if we didn’t, our ascent would have been much slower and we wouldn’t make it to the top in time for the sunrise.

A little more. I could go a little more. I let my mind wander. I barely had the focus to keep my song going. Also, I was kind of sick of the song by now. There are only so many times one can repeat the same stanza over and over again.

I thought of the conference I’d just attended where the speaker had preached through the book of Mark. In Mark 6:30-56 there are three stories back-to-back that speak of relying on Jesus strength. The argument of this message presented by the speaker was perfect for my long hike, “When you don’t have it in you, Jesus has it in him.” He walked through the passage with three main points, the strain, the set up, and the supply.

At the beginning of the passage, the disciples are tired, and Jesus suggests they withdraw for some solitude and rest. They get into a boat to cross the sea, and Jesus promptly falls asleep. The disciples wake him up as they face a storm and with a single word, Jesus quiets both the wind and the waves. They arrive on the opposite shore to a multitude of people, not the rest they had anticipated when setting off. Jesus had compassion on them and began to teach. Dinner time approaches and the disciples suggest the people be sent away to nearby villages for food. Jesus challenges this and instead instructs his disciples to give them food themselves. Of course an impossible task, Jesus takes the five loaves and two fish available and multiplies it beyond anyone wildest imagination. The strain: the disciples were already tired. They hadn’t the means to accomplish the task. The set up: Jesus asks of them anyways to work to serve these people. The supply: Jesus provides the thing they could not supply himself.

The disciples once more set out across the lake, likely even more exhausted than before and Jesus remains behind to pray. Jesus sees them straining on the oars, but does not go out to them until dawn. Then, when he finally does, WALKING on the water of all things, he is about to pass them by! The disciples have been straining against the oars all night, working hard to make progress against the prevailing winds and Jesus is about to walk on by. Once more though, he has compassion, gets in the boat and stills the winds once more.

Our speaker pointed out that Jesus left them in the situation allowing them to experience the strain. He pointed out that if it is only our own ability we use, we won’t seek to glorify God. He pointed out in the feeding of the five thousand that Jesus commanded the disciples to do something they literally could not. He shared that often, just when you thought you’d [done blank] enough, Jesus commands us to do more, and that in THAT we can give glory to God. He shared that when the disciples were depleted completely, they were then able to draw on Jesus’ supply. It was beyond clear that supply could have only come from Christ. He shared that Jesus would have us, when we come to the end of our limits, to come to Him for an endless supply.

Well, let me tell you. This had been rolling in my head that whole morning hike. I’d thought with each new wave of resolve and physical strength that came with my song that I was relying on Jesus’ strength to continue up this mountainside.

When we pushed forward leaving the cousins behind, I was relying on Christ’s strength. When my rest break was ‘just ahead’ more times than it was ‘right here’ I was relying on Christ’s strength. When we dropped the backpacks at the junction of up and down, my heart rate and breathing steadied so I could keep going, I was relying on Christ’s strength.

Each time I thought I had nothing left and yet I pressed forward, so imagine my shock when my body finally gave out on me. We were halfway between the backpack drop and the top. Perhaps twenty minutes left. The dawn was creeping above the horizon painting gorgeous pinks and oranges in lines, casting a dull glow on the rocks around us. We stopped for a couple of pictures and I heard myself mutter, “You keep going. I’ll catch up” as my body flopped down on the nearest rock. My intentions were clear only to myself, I’d stay there and “catch up” as they came back down.

“No. We’re summiting together.” M declared.

My heart sank. There was nothing in me. Not another step forward. I wasn’t going to make it. My body was done. Then I heard those words tumble through my brain again, but in a different voice, a different time. My mother, when we were at Hell’s Gate National Park when they were visiting last December. She’d plopped herself on a stump and refused to take another step forward. We were a mere 10 minute walk to the viewpoint overlooking gorges and canyons, the inspiration itself for the animators of The Lion King.

“I quit.” That’s what I heard reverberating in my head. I didn’t want to be a quitter, but I didn’t know from where my reserve of strength could come.

“Mama,” and hand outstretched before me. “Let me carry your pack.”

Stubborn, I wanted to say no. I wanted to prove I could be a strong, independent woman. But I couldn’t. Tears welled in my eyes. “Ok.” I passed my daypack to our guide. My tiny little four or five pound bag, lifted from my shoulders taking the weight of the world with it.

The restricting in my chest this time was not because of the altitude, but because of the love I felt. No longer “I quit” was in my mind, but rather the picture from the book of Mark. I had been straining on the oars, pushing into the wind, thinking I was relying on Christ’s strength. Jesus had been watching me. He’d been seeing my need, but he waited until just the right moment to reach out and lift my burden. My legs felt as light as a feather, my hiking poles found new ground, my soul new determination. I truly can say, it was not of my own strength I summited the mountain, but of that of Christ.

As we crested the final corner and I saw the metal rungs that took us the last 15 feet to the summit, my chest constricted and my eyes stung- but not from the altitude or the biting wind.

“I did it!” I choked out.

“I made it to the top.”

I marveled at the feat of accomplishment, but even more at the love and care I felt from those with me, first to my hiking comrades who intentionally chose not to leave me behind, even though it meant arriving just in the nick of time for the sunrise, hiking through dawn instead of arriving for dawn at the summit. Second, for feeling so seen and loved in that moment my Savior Jesus Christ who in my moment of need saw me and prompted our guide to come to my aid in such a small, yet oh so powerful act of kindness.

My teeth chattered as the biting wind cut through all four layers. My fingers ached as I took them out of my gloves to snap a couple of pictures. My nose turned red at the chill of being exposed, and yet in my heart and mind I beamed with joy at the feat accomplished together.

At last, we turned around and began our descent. Twenty minutes or so later, we crossed paths once more with the four cousins, cheering them on as we knew just how close they were, and how difficult it must be for them to make this trek coming from sea-level. We at least lived at some altitude ourselves.

I began to realize the gift that climbing in the dark had been… we’d come from WHERE?!?! I climbed WHAT?!? Now I knew why my legs had protested so vehemently. Our end goal shrouded in darkness meant the already difficult mental game was actually easier than it could have been. I am certain if I had seen where I was attempting to go that whole hike up instead of just being able to see one step in front of me, I would have chosen to quit, never imagining the depth of the well Christ’s strength could be to draw upon.

We stopped to decorate a snow-patch as a snowman, stopped by a tiny pool to admire the beauty, shed layer upon layer as the sun continued to rise, applied sunscreen to our exposed faces and necks and slowly worked our way back down the mountainside. We scouted our path, pausing now to enjoy the beauty rather than to recover our breaths as each step down meant more oxygen rich air. The teens squatted down and used their hands like ski poles to balance, skidding on the marble-like rocks for chunks of descent, watching us older folk carefully place each foot to avoid a dangerous fall. I began to catch wind of knees protesting from the gentlemen behind me, and thanked God that mine, 1-2 decades younger, were holding up for this early portion of the downhill.

Around 9 in the morning, we arrived at a tiny outpost. One cook shack and a long-drop toilet marked this as our breakfast campsite. There was a blanket splayed out, more unlimited hot beverages awaiting our arrival. A nice cup of instant-coffee woke up my groggy mind that had already been hiking for seven hours. More porridge and peanut butter, sausages and fruit greeted our weary bodies and hungry bellies. A post-breakfast nap proved just what each person needed as we sought out flat, dry, grass covered ground to stretch out our boot-less toes and lay back under a once more cloudless sky.

After about an hour, we moved some of our warm clothes to our overnight packs that had been carried from Camp Shipton that morning while we’d summited in the night. We set off once more moving much faster as the descent continued, but at a much more gradual decline. I opened my stride to keep up with the long-legged men, finally having a chance to chat with some of them and get to know them more as each step down made us more fit with the richer air. Hour after hour we hiked, coming down the opposite side of the mountain we’d climbed. Still feeling like I was in a movie set, we passed deep valleys, streams and what seemed like vast rolling greenery. We paused for a water break, and some incoming travelers stopped a minute to chat. They were coming from the camp we were headed to. Their goal was to summit and descend all in one day. I could not imagine.

Our legs tired, our joints protested and yet down and down we continued. Our camp was spotted in the distance, but no step forward seemed to make it appear any closer. Here and there we paused for a respite, only to stand once more and trudge forward. Now that I’d reached the summit, I was happy to be done, but I knew we had just as much ground to cover going down as we’d covered climbing.

Close to three in the afternoon, twelve hours after we’d initially left Camp Shipton, we arrived at our destination for the night, Chagoira Camp. This camp was a little more rustic, only a long drop, no real toilet. One picnic table and scattered tents that held our beds for the night. I chuckled watching the men wander through camp with their phones held high to inform their wives of their safe arrival at our final destination. My battery and power banks had been dead for hours so I made no attempt at contacting the outside world.

The next morning, we packed up our bags one final time and briskly walked the last hour and a half through a mossy forest on a dirt road to the Chagoria Gate. Compared to the last few days of greul, this felt like a walk in the park! At one point, M came along side me and asked what had been going through my mind as we summited as he could tell I’d been quite emotional. It was neat to recount what I shared above about God’s provision of strength when I’d had nothing left, and even his encouragement that we would be summitting together, no matter how long it took. We finally arrived at the gate where final thanks were made to the crew who had done all the behind the scenes work to make our journey possible and we were loaded into a four-wheel drive vehicle to begin the almost nine-hour journey back to RVA.

An adventure of a lifetime? Check.