Another scream of wind tore at her stinging face. She could barely stand now, let alone see. Her boots gave way once more on the frozen ground and she found herself face down in the snow. Again. Half buried and half blind on this hideous climb. She wondered, not for the first time, if He was still there. It was so long since she had glimpsed His face. Perhaps He had left her too.
It had all begun so well. Backpack restocked, mouth set, chest full, they had set off, ready to leave the shifting fogs of the valley behind. But this storm had moved in before they even got to the climb. She thought back across the confusion of the journey. Could she remember anything but the relentless, raging of the storm? Could she even remember the last time she had seen past her own gloved hand, or felt her toes? This mountain had been more treacherous than any she had even known. It betrayed constantly with false summits and hidden dips. How many times had she relaxed, thinking the end was in sight, only to be cast down another unseen crevice? Forced once more to climb.
But she had survived. She had kept going. Her fingers were leaden, suffocated and stiff under layers of protection which she had come to resent, but she still gripped the rock. She would reach the summit. She would raise the flag. And she would make it.
She took a deep breath, and pulled herself up.
It was just after sunrise that she realised. A slight change in the light. The deafening roar in her ears was softer, more distant somehow. She could see the tips of her boots again beneath the compacted snow. The snow itself had slowed down and she watched as a flake floated against the brightening sky to land on a crop of dark rocks. Could this be it? Had she made it through the storm? She rejected the thought. Better not to be disappointed. She was reluctant even to look behind her to check. She loped onwards, putting one leg in front of the other.
It was only as she reached the flagpole that she allowed herself to hope - to really believe she had made it. Fingers shaking, she pulled the discoloured flag from her backpack and began to attach it to the pole. Each pull on the rope tore through her arm muscles, but she was almost there. She forced herself to concentrate, to take in this moment. She was doing it! She was moments from that moment they had promised would come. When she would be alright again. Where everything would be alright.
A metal clang rang through the air as the flag reached the top. A smile touched the corners of her mouth and she took a deep, steadying breath. She was ready. Taking her time, she lifted her head and looked out.
But all she could see was the storm. The storm she had tried to leave behind. She was above it now, but still it filled her view, a treacherous blanket of cloud stretching from beneath the rocks at her feet, all the way to the white horizon. Suddenly she found she could no longer stand and she slid down to the bottom of the pole. The flag above her was slumped and limp, watching the chaos in silence. She swallowed hard, fighting the feeling that threatened her edges. Where was the view? Where was the elation, the joy of the completed climb? She’d done everything right, hadn’t she? Persevered and gone for her dreams, looked deep inside of herself and kept on going no matter what…She had made it. But there was no one here to see it. It was just her. She was alone.
The cold was inside her now and she pulled her arms around herself, pushing down the sobs that rose in her chest. She knew if she let them out they would empty her completely. Silently, she watched the storm around her. The clouds were rising. She hadn’t left it behind at all. It was coming for her.
Closing her eyes, she surrendered herself to the confusion of the snow, the sharp bites of ice on her skin. She had nothing left.
But right there, as she collapsed herself into the deafening swirl of the storm, she heard it.
A voice on the wind. Calling her name.
She saw him appear, too weak now to do anything but watch, anything but yield to his strong arms around her. She felt herself lifted from the ground. The weight and the cold of her was disappointment heavy in his arms. The storm whistled and cried around their heads and once more she could not see. But she could feel his shoulder beneath her cheek and she could feel his warmth through her side.
The cave was bare. No furniture. Nothing beautiful as such. But it was warm. The storm was kept out by the depth of the mountain, the crackle and dance of the fire. Finally she felt her insides begin to thaw. What had frozen began to unfreeze, one drop at a time.
She still had no view. Perhaps she hadn’t made it. But it turned out the comfort of the fire and his presence were all she needed, after all.
“‘In repentance and rest is your salvation,
In quietness and trust is your strength,
But you would have none of it.
You said, “No, we will flee on horses.”
Therefore, you will flee.
You said, “We will rise off on swift horses.”
Therefore your pursuers will be swift!
A thousand will flee
at the threat of one;
At the threat of five
You will all flee away,
Til you are left
Like a flagstaff on a mountaintop,
Like a banner on a hill.’
Yet the Lord longs to be gracious to you;
Therefore he will rise up to show you compassion.
For the Lord is a God of justice.
Blessed are all who wait for him!”
Isaiah 30:15-18