Yesterday we hiked in Arches National Park. We went to Delicate Arch, a steep trail to an arch perched up high. We had been talking about how during this trip Elizabeth had been learning she has more strength and courage than she knew. As we approached the arch I said, "I would dearly love to take a picture of you at the arch, to show you what you're capable of." Well, we got over the rim dividing us from the arch. People were on the other side, taking pictures of one another standing under the arch. But the rock was sloping, it looked dangerous. Elizabeth stopped at the rim and stared. I stepped over the rim rocks onto the sloping rock, determined to go over. But I couldn't. I was seized by vertigo, by terror. All I could see was the slope to the edge, and the sheer drop from the edge. I leaned against the wall and tried to breathe, to center enough to come back. I couldn't find an easy way back up the rim. Eventually I got to a place where someone gave me a hand and I returned to the rim. I thought that was the end.
Then - Elizabeth decided to go! She had seen my fear, but she was determined to be a woman of courage, strength, and power. Slowly, hesitantly, but persistently, she went over the rim and around the sloping circle to become one of those who stand under the arch. Around her young people walked confidently, and seniors with waking sticks plodded. I could see her fear, but she went. I couldn't even watch for a while, it made me nauseous and dizzy again. But she got there.
There was a line for having your picture taken. When it was her turn, she looked to see whether I was ready. I waved. She walked across a narrow path of rock to stand, thousands of feet up, under a beautiful arch. I took the picture, nauseous with fear for her, trying not to cry.
Then she slowly, steadily returned. I could see her fear, but she paused and kept coming. When she got to the rim again, it took her a while to find her way up. But she made it. She had gone to the arch and back. I burst into tears - tears of admiration for her, and of released terror.
Later it dawned on me that when I challenged her to go, it never occurred to me that I couldn't do it myself. I thought I was inviting her to join me. It turned out that I was calling her to go where I couldn't.
That seems profoundly true to me today. The best coaches are not necessarily the best players. We do not always have to "walk the talk" or "practice what we preach." At the level of decency and integrity then yes, we want people we can trust. But when it comes to ministries in the world, or seeing what is possible, then sometimes we send others on ahead where we cannot go. Parents do this with their children, and we do this in all healthy communities.
Today I am in awe of my sister, my companion. She consistently shows me what courage looks like - not just on slick rock, but in facing fears and sharing her frailty of all sorts. She shows me how to be vulnerable and strong at once. I don't have these gifts in the way she does, but that's OK. My gifts seem to call her to use hers, and that's enough for me. I pray to do that for others, and to let others do that for me.
