When I Went to Mt. Everest

When I Went to Mt. Everest



The blog I wrote last Friday reminded me of an experience I had in Tibet.

I woke up to the sound of a bell and Tibetan Buddhist monks droning their morning prayers.  My head was pounding from the 18,000ft plus of altitude and dehydration.  The water bottles had all frozen over night.  I crunched my way out of the tiny settlement and into the barren valley of the Rombuk glacier.

Then it happened.

The clouds broke ahead of me and the glistening, snow-covered peak of Mt.Everest came into view.

I remember thinking:

  1. I will never climb that beast.  I am suffering down here, that’s two miles higher.
  2. How the heck did I get here?  I have no money, yet God provided for this trip.
  3. God is far too good to me.  I’m a punk kid fromTexas.  I’m cocky, arrogant and really shouldn’t be standing at the foot of the tallest mountain in the world.  Humbling.  This is the stuff people dream of doing.

Yes, I cried.  The good kind of crying.  The kind that reminds you to look up and say:

 Lord, our Lord,
how majestic is your name in all the earth!

   You have set your glory
in the heavens.
Through the praise of children and infants
you have established a stronghold against your enemies,
to silence the foe and the avenger.
When I consider your heavens,
the work of your fingers,
the moon and the stars,
which you have set in place,
what is mankind that you are mindful of them,
human beings that you care for them?

Psalm 8