In June 2018, I climbed Black Elk Peak in the Black Hills of South Dakota. Previously known as Harney’s Peak, it is the highest point east of the Rockies in the U.S.

The temps were in the 90’s, I didn’t have hiking shoes, and I only had one bottle of water. In addition, I was afraid of heights, heading out on a trail that looked like you could fall right off the mountainside.

I was tempted to spend the day at the foot of the trail sitting by the lake and taking a dip in the cool water or going kayaking. It would have been so much easier. And safer.

However, I chose to make the hike because my estranged 20-year-old son was going, and I didn’t want him to make the trip alone.

During my son’s last two years in high school, my husband and I had wondered how we’d survive until his 18^th birthday. After raising two well-behaved, Christ-seeking teens, we were faced with their younger brother who was defiant and rebellious. We were literally in a battle for his life, and we had to make some hard decisions. We learned that love isn’t always about giving a person what they want. Sometimes, it’s about giving them what they need even at the risk of them hating you.

In the two years since our son had moved away from home the day before he turned 18, my husband and I had established a strained relationship with him, but we were far from close. We loved each other, but we didn’t trust each other.

But on the journey up the rocky, switchback-laden trail that led to the gnarled crown of Black Elk Peak, I got to know a young man whom I could start to trust again, a young man who offered me support and encouragement when I was hot, thirsty, and afraid of looking over the edges of the precipices. Someone I could build a friendship with and a strong mother-son relationship with.

God turned the hike into a trust-building, relationship-healing, fear-conquering adventure that was exceedingly abundantly above my expectations.

Now when I gaze at the image of the peak, I see victory, but as I look at the fire lookout tower at the pinnacle, I’m also reminded of how I stopped short. I halted at the basement of the stone tower because of a stairway that made it look as if you were stepping into the air with nothing beneath you. I conquered the mountain, but I allowed fear to prevent me from claiming the full reward. How many times do we end up in the basement of our victory? Thankfully, I did not make that same mistake in my relationship with my son. 

The hike was amazing! God was amazing! But a few more steps would have made it even more complete.