Jesus Wears Snowshoes

I leaned over my hiking poles, gasping for oxygen like a fish out of water. Snow and ice hung like weights on the lodgepole pine, a constant reminder of the heaviness over my soul. And with every crunching step of my snowshoes, my leg muscles responded with the rhythmic burn of my private anger.

Not two years prior had I climbed one of Colorado’s 14,000-foot mountains with relative ease, but on this day I struggled to reach a Rocky Mountain foothill that stands 3,000 feet lower. I grumbled at myself for slacking my regular exercise program over the past year. I complained to God that this refreshing outing is yet another example that sustaining joy in life is too much work…

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Thanks to Beth Patch and the editorial team for publishing this article!

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