'Man, I clung to that rock!'

Deer Creek Canyon was a favorite destination when Danny and I were first married. The canyon was only short drive from Littleton, Colo., so we could be in mountain grandeur by suppertime after a long day at work, enjoying the fall foliage and the sparkling waters cascading down Deer Creek.

It also was a favorite weekend destination, especially during the hot summer days. We'd get a whole group together and head for the hills, to hike and picnic. And the fellas, each one a "macho macho man" couldn't resist a little rock climbing.

The canyon isn't known for its high, towering cliffs. Compared to some of the heights scaled in the Rockies, these cliffs were pretty tame and Danny and Ricky frequently climbed freestyle, man against mountain. (I told you -- we were young and, of course, invincible.) It was a sort of a competition, each climber chose his own route, finding and testing footholds and handholds, clambering up the mountain, first one way and then the next.

Due to my debilitating fear of heights, I was, for lack of a better term, the "spotter." Meaning, I guess, that if tragedy came, I would be the one to summon help. (In retrospect, this probably wasn't the best of plans. Remember that this was years before cell phones would be available. I could just see me, running first toward the tragedy, then back toward the car to go for help, then halfway there, turning back to the tragedy ... I'm not worth much in the first few critical moments of an emergency. It takes my brain more time than it should to prioritize in critical moments.)

On one particular sunny late summer day, the fellas chose a relatively challenging climb. As was their habit, each selected a slightly different approach and I knew they were finding the going tough because it seemed like they were making a lot of lateral moves, trying to find their way around a jutting rock face that stood in the way of the goal.

Finally, they made the summit and an astonished Danny asked Ricky, "How did you get around that rock? I looked everywhere for something to hang on to and couldn't find a thing."

Ricky, still out of breath, his characteristic laid back manner momentarily set aside, grinned and replied, "Man, I clung to that rock!"

By the time they made their way back down to the car, they were laughing it off, in typical macho style, but the lesson stayed with me.

There are times when we are just like Ricky. Times when life presents us with the sheer face of a cliff, with no visible way past it. Nevertheless, life insists that we cannot go back, we dare not descend, we have no choice but to press forward and traverse the impossible path before us or perish trying.

Sheer, desperate determination is what kept Ricky clinging to that rock that day. Sheer, desperate determination is what kept him moving forward, never looking back, never looking down. Otherwise, he would have surely fallen, and almost surely died.

I believe Providence allowed Ricky safe though terrifying passage around that cliff face that day and it ended in laughter rather than tears. (Strange, though, that I cannot recall our next rock climbing adventure. Perhaps the memory of this one eclipses all others or perhaps there simply weren't any more.)

That granite-faced cliff wall, scarred by time, wind and rain offers a valuable lesson on how believers can successfully navigate the wind-blown, storm-tossed days of our lives. There is a rock, sometimes on which we stand, sometimes to which we cling, that never fails, never falters and never lets go.

"Therefore everyone who hears these words of mine and puts them into practice is like a wise man who built his house on the rock. The rain came down, the streams rose, and the winds blew and beat against that house; yet it did not fall, because it had its foundation on the rock." Matthew 7:24, 25 (NIV)