When You Need Faith for the Next Step…

We once found an old rope ladder hanging from a tree in the middle of the woods, me and a gaggle of seventh-grade girls who were rushing through the timber at church camp the summer of my thirteenth year. 

For some reason, that memory surfaced while I was lying in the top bunk next to my sniffling boy last night…

We weren’t sure why the ladder was there or who had hung it so far off the beaten trail, but we’d stopped at the base of that big old oak and we’d run our hands along the coiled rope. 

We hadn’t planned to linger long. There were boys hiking the trail on the outskirts of those trees and we’d fully intended to beat them back to the lodge where dinner waited.  Everyone knew that those naughty boys in cabin six were the ones who’d wrapped toilet paper around our door that morning, and the only way to retaliate was to steal their coveted table at meal time. After all,  the table closest to the kitchen always got seconds on desserts and the boys acted like they owned the right to a second serving of brownies.

So, when the rest of the campers had paused for  a water break, we’d sought quiet permission to break away from the guided hike and take the short cut through the trees.Our counselor had eyed the boys from cabin 6 who were having a water fight with their canteens at the back of the line, and she’d agreed that the best retaliation would be tied to those ornery boys’ stomachs. We’d all giggled, quite pleased with our plan. 

“I’m letting you do this because I trust you,” our counselor had said as we’d slipped into the timber before anyone noticed a few girls from cabin 4 were missing… 

“Tell Him what?” 

“That we would follow Him anywhere….”   He turned back toward the wall, pounded the mattress with his fist and silently offered me his back instead of his watery green eyes.

I lay there staring at the ceiling, at the moonbeams dancing with the shadows, at the bumpy texture on the ceiling. And as I listened to my son’s ragged breaths, I rolled tangled words around in my head. And willed my brain to translate the swelling in my soul into a response that a first-grader could understand. 

Finally, I simply replied, “I told Him that because I trust Him.”

I pictured that grayed and frayed rope in the middle of the woods, remembered how we’d circled that tree and wondered if we’d dared to climb it. The thought of scaling toward the sky had been enticing, but the fear of falling cast a shadow across our pressing sense of adventure.

What if the rope didn’t hold?

After considering all of our options, the girls had voted me to be the climber.

 “Just try it!” my best friend had said with a grin, “You’re the lightest one here.” She’d given my bony shoulders a go-get-em-Champ-squeeze, and the rest of the girls had piped up in agreement. 

 I’d craned my neck to survey the climb, tried to peer up through the summer foliage to see where the ladder ended. But after the third step the ropes disappeared into a canopy of green. I’d had no idea how high the ladder reached or where it ended, but somewhere deep inside a twinge of excitement brewed. I’d paused, chewed on my bottom lip and tried to formulate an excuse for staying on the ground.

“You can do it,” the girls had murmured, the gleam in their eyes a mixture of envy and relief.

I don’t know what made me nod and lift my foot into their upturned palms, but before I could change my mind, my cabin-mates had heaved me up to that first ragged rung and my climb had begun. With white-knuckled fists, I’d grabbed the ropes on each side of my torso and had hung in a long moment of indecision. Should I take the next step?

The ladder had swayed beneath my weight like the gunny sack hanging willy nilly in the hay mow on my cousin’s farm. However, this time, there was no soft straw to cushion a fall. I’d contemplated just dropping right back down into the dirt while I could still land without breaking a bone. But then my best friend had spoken softly, her words rising from beneath my toes and giving me courage to continue.

“The ladder’s gonna hold, Alicia. Just take one step at a time.”

And so I’d willed my trembling legs to climb.  I’d  tugged my gangly body up to the second step and gingerly put the full weight of my 95-pound frame upon that weathered rope rung. I’d bounced a little to test the strength of the cord beneath my feet, and then, with a deep breath and a prayer, I’d reached above my head for the next rung.

Eventually, I’d climbed my way to the last step, to the place where the ladder met the limb. 

 The girls on the ground had hooted and hollered, their applause rising above the clamor of my thumping heart. And as I’d rested my chin on that thick tree branch to which that ladder had been tied, I’d felt my whole being exhale in exhilarating relief. Beyond me stretched a view that made the world below seem shrunken and small. The timber looked like a celery patch, the blue lake like a sparkling puddle.

My tense shoulders had relaxed, my clenched stomach unfurled. And from my tree-top perch, I’d thanked God for the rope that had held my every step. And I’d wondered why I’d been so afraid of the climb in the first place…

Joshua’s sleepy murmur beckoned me back to the top bunk. “But, Mommy, how do you know you can trust Him?” my littlest boy asked, his slender fingers twining themselves around mine.

I paused, considering my answer before I spoke.

“I know I can trust Him, because I believe His promises…“ I whispered, letting my quiet declaration chase away my own hovering shadows of doubt.

Joshua’s breathing slowed, his eyes fighting the weariness that hung heavy on his lids.

Then my littlest boy sighed and mumbled in a sleepy slur, “I’ll try to trust Him, too, Mommy. I’ll try…”

 I lay there in the darkness, my heart a tangle of hope and hurt. And as I lingered next to my sleepy son, I realized that walking by faith is a lot like climbing that old rope ladder.

One step at a time, we are invited to put the full weight of our lives upon the truth of God’s Word and see if His promises hold.

Sometimes our hearts sway and our hope dangles; some days we can’t see where we’re going or what waits just beyond the canopy of this world. But tread after tentative tread, we discover that He is faithful.  Rung, after rung, we find that He is faithful. 

And so, day by day, prayer by prayer, we climb our way to glory. 

I don’t know when I’ll get there, or how many times I’ll fall along my way, but I have a feeling that once I reach this life’s last rung, I’ll be astounded by the view.  

And I’m betting that when I finally perch on the branch that sprouted from Jesse’s stump, these steps that feel so big and so hard today will look small in the light of my new view. 

And most likely, when I rest my head on that timeless limb of love, I’ll wonder why I was ever afraid of the next step.

Joshua’s hot breath was leaving dewdrops on my nose, and his sister’s quiet knock on the bedroom door reminded me that there were others who needed to be kissed goodnight. So I swung my half-asleep legs over the mattress’s edge and placed my bare feet on the wooden ladder beside the bed.

Then, before I crawled down from the top bunk, I lay my hands on my sleeping son’s heart and prayed that he would have faith to follow Jesus one step at a time. Anywhere his Savior might lead. 

And with the weight of my body balanced on that wooden ladder’s rung, I asked the same thing for his mommy.