"I have a story, but I don't know how to begin telling it. Do I start with the ride there or do I start at the end and work backwards? No, I think I'll tell the story the way I found the Blue Ridge Spirit - in spurts. My spirit was sparked....  left kindling and began to catch as the reality of the view, people, and experience slowly set in...  Finally, it was set ablaze. When? The second I looked over the mountain at the top of the hike. Instantly a tear came, followed by another, and many more. The spirit had captured me. I became an emotional rollercoaster. Euphoria, thankfulness, fear, and a realm of feelings I cannot even begin to describe...

The Blue Ridge Spirit is a part of me now...I can still feel it.  And, I am going to hold on to it as long as I possible can. I know that it will fade- it's inevitable, but I am not going to allow the flame to go out." - excerpt from my myspace blog, July 8, 2006.

They say that most people don't get the luxury of mountain top experiences; I think that those people just don't spend enough time in the mountains. Some of the most memorable experiences of my life have unfolded while scrambling upward through the wilderness. During the Summer of 2006, me and fifty of my closest friends  hiked one of the  largest mountains in the Appalachians range on a trial that was only accessible to our trusty guides. As we reached the peak, after hours scrambling over rocks and struggling with my asthma and ankle issues, I began to cry. It was in that moment that I finally understood the Blue Ridge Spirit.... 


For four years, I had heard my friends and mentors talk about this mythical Blue Ridge Spirit. They had all claimed to have caught it, but no one dare attempt to explain it. Every time I asked what was so special about Blue Ridge, they simply responded "You can't explain it. You'll know it when you catch the Spirit, and then you'll understand... and it will change your life forever". 

During that week in 2006, I caught the Blue Ridge Spirit and by the time I had graduated high school, I had already lost it. Hundreds of miles away, in another mountain range, I recaptured that Spirit... Backpacking and hiking with friends, conquering the wilderness of Montana, and standing in awe of God's creation. After being back in the city for over year, the flame had dwindled once again.... until Friday night.

We piled into my little car around 9:00 pm. Quite frankly, I was not in the mood for a hike, especially not in the Blue Ridge. The weather forecast wasn't exactly promising, my ankle was hurting, and I was feeling incredibly homesick.  By homesick I mean that I just wanted to be near the people and the places that I love. I love the mountains and the people I packed into my car, but this seemed like a bad idea- wrong mountain, wrong people, wrong timing for my homesick heart. My heart longed for high school, yesteryear of college, Montana and all the other experiences that made me feel like me. And, there I was, piling into my car for a sleepless night of adventure.

It seems like I always forget the power of the mountains, of friendship, and of God's ability to reveal Himself within His creation. Huddled  together between a rock and a row of bushes, futilely attempting to hide from the piercing wind  that ripped across the summit, I knew I somehow recaptured the Blue Ridge Spirit on the way up the mountain. This time I wasn't looking for it, but it always seems to find me on the way up. When it does, everything breaks open... caution and reservation is thrown to the wind. Talking, singing, laughing, screaming, crying, and even cuddling together... it all lets loose and it these moments we are free to be ourselves in our purest form... an inch from insanity, living life right on the edge where it is meant to be lived.

Right mountain, right people, right timing. Friday night was exactly what I needed, and a recapturing of the flame that I all too often allow to burn out. After hours of hiking upwards, scrambling over rocks, staring at the stars, and cowering together as we endured the wind, I feel like myself again.

I'm no longer homesick because as Metallica  so elegantly sings, "Anywhere I roam. Where I lay my head is home". Friday night, a small gap between a rock and a tree was home. For now DC, is home.  In the future, wherever God leads me will be home.

Those of us destined to be nomads will always have changing homes until we reach the otherside, but one thing stays the same: our interconnectedness with one another. My brothers and sisters who climbed the mountain with me four years ago are still CONA family even though we have lost touch. My friends from high school, college, and my housemates from Montana are still influencing my life even though they are scattered around the world.  The five of us that took on Old Rag Mountain at 1:00 am Friday night- though we may never be that close ever again- are forever connected because we have this shared experience.

Picture found at wikicommons

There is something about climbing a mountain together that unites people in a way that no other experience ever could. Whether the mountain is an actual hike or a figurative journey through a struggle or season of life, when we climb together, we somehow become more than individuals trekking upwards, we become a family of sojourners determined to reach the summit. I am grateful for the mountain experiences and for the family of amazing individuals that I have been so incredibly blessed to travel with along the way.

Thank you for all for trekking with me! May there be many more mountains, and may we never lose the Spirit that captures us in the wilderness...