The Shadow of

Christmas Mountain


By Dan and Chris Kennedy


© Copyright 2011, by Dan and Chris Kennedy

kennedycottage@gmail.com





Tall and majestic, mythical yet legendary, the gentle and terrible “Christmas Mountain” stood silently alone.  Although the craggy mountain’s outward appearance was cold-stone solid and steadfast in its ancient immobility, its internal being imperceptibly trembled.


The rugged and beautiful face of this mountain overshadowed the harsher reality of its painful past – holding a dark secret that, if revealed and understood, could change the heart of desperate skeptics.  I had a secret too.  It had crushed me.


~ ~ ~


My paralyzed soul lay limp and exhausted, twisted and broken, as I silently groaned, alone in my mangled despair.  Miserably overcome I cried out to God…if there was a God.


Circumstances had delivered what felt to me its crushing, life-consuming, insurmountable curse.


I nursed that throbbing hurt; I pulled my own woven, blackened covering of excuses tightly around me hiding forever my festering pride, while I quietly rehearsed again and again the never-ending recitation of events that had led to my humiliating, demoralizing defeat.  


If only the events and the words could be undone – washed away, healed, erased, blotted out...but that never happened.


Each harsh syllable leading to my ruin pounded in my mind with such intensity as if to split my soul into two irreconcilable parts.  The “what if’s” of my embattled mind reincarnated those harsh, animated mental accusations: those twisted, taunting, imaginary faces protruding grotesquely with bristling, spiny appendages– boney accusing, pointy fingers, which were coyly protected by blubbering lips slavishly plastered with slick, pat answers and carnally self-perpetuating clichés.


I felt I had no chance to regain, or renew the integrity of my personal sanity.  Lost forever was my will to live in this accursed world.  The foreboding, continuing bleakness of my soul seemed certain, crushing the joy of any celebration, in any season, for any foreseeable future.  I seemed destined to live the rest of my life in a monotone shade of beige – a stick person, void of feeling.


I would find a small town tucked away across some ancient bridge on the edge of society and wrap myself in the heavy cloak of busy-work.  I would engage my mind so completely in the menial tasks of seeming responsibility – to the point of profound irresponsibility, that never again would I remember the glory of the long forgotten.  


Not many days would pass, before I found the right location to transfer my occupation, my belongings and the hollow shell of my body.


~ ~ ~


The Skeptic


Early every morning, before dawn, I trudged mechanically to the office in the quietness and solitude of the unpretentious, genial community in which I had chosen to dissolve myself.  The predawn darkness, engulfing my well-worn path to work, mimicked the oppressive shroud that permeated my soul. 


Though I lived in the constant smokescreen of impeccable professionalism, in reality, I was a cynical, overbearing shrew at the office.  Secretly cursing my own lot in life, I relentlessly cursed any ineptness visible in any of my associates.  If it were not for the undisputed authority of my seniority, street-wise experience, company loyalty and personal net worth, I would not have lasted the afternoon. Those around me soon learned when to leave me alone, how to play up to me, and when to avoid me at all cost – especially if I obviously needed extended time to privately nurse the boiling of that hidden volcano bitterly brewing within me.


One day a gracious, interactive client on the phone, gushing somewhat over the beauty surrounding our little town, unsuspectingly asked, “Do you have a view of ‘The Mountain’ from your office windows?”  


Scoffing inwardly I cloaked my true feelings, mimicking the words sarcastically to myself as I smiled coyly on the phone, “‘The Mountain?’  Not really…” 


I had heard of this apparition before, but no, I had not seen this supposed mythical icon of the community!  I was too busy diligently applying myself to my necessary responsibilities!  I had already taken care of unnecessary employee “staring out of windows” with expensive and private blinds.


Everyone knew of my fierce “dedication” to THE Company.  I came in the darkness of morning and left in the blackness of night. There was no “The Mountain” for me. Let simple-minded children believe in this mystic fantasy of beauty and awe-inspiring grandeur; but for me this “Mountain” was little more than a puny mound of dirt and stone, smooched together by a fluke of nature and sprinkled on top with snow – like the dusting of powdered sugar my childhood neighbor’s mother sprinkled on her fake, cardboard gingerbread house at Christmas.  


It was not an edifice of beauty for the arch-skeptical professional like me, and no pie-in-the-sky mountaintop would raise my broken spirit to the clouds.  Nothing would.  I laughed again when I overheard others who spoke of the beauty and grandeur of “The Mountain”.  I secretly laughed a hard, cold, bitter laugh…a laugh of icy unbelief…a laugh with the not-to-subtle overtones of “you ignorant so-‘n-so, there is no ‘The Mountain’ in the lives of real, hard-working people; there is no ‘Mountain’ in my life!”


~ ~ ~


The Alarm


I will never forget the restless, winter morning in late November when, for once, I rebelled at the clanging reminder to get out of bed.  Just thinking of rising before dawn, facing the lonely, cold trudge to work to beat the less dedicated associates following me, was just too wearisome this particular morning for my strained body and mind.  Picking up the annoying alarm clock, I threw it as hard as I could across the room.  It smashed against the wall, terminating the final clatter of its loud clapper.  


I despised my lot in life for the billionth time and uncharacteristically turned over for just one more nod of sleep, hoping to give myself another brief respite; an additional, lingering moment of precious, complete silence.  My weary soul plunged my body into a deep sleep and my tormented spirit drew me into a dream…oddly enough, it was a peaceful dream of unencumbered, delightful rest that stirred a great craving in my miserable heart.


Deep down in the cavern of my time-hardened spirit, I longed for a “rest” like that. I had no peace.  


As I had disbelieved in “The Mountain”, so also I, even more, did not believe in God. If He was there, He had bitterly disappointed me in something I had experienced, and I would never let Him forget it.  This dream plagued me though…for it seemed to have come from Him – this God I so resisted and bitterly resented.  


I woke up with a start, sweating, and for a fleeting moment I briefly sensed a strange peace from that dream.  It seemed I could feel a longing from God’s Soul for my peace and an unmistakable offer of rest in which my empty soul’s weariness could begin to find comfort. As quickly as it had come, the dream had vanished, and in a mere moment the warmth of that tantalizing dream began to fade.


I rolled over to look at the time but found the hands of the alarm scattered at the base of the scarred wall. Everything, it seemed, was mangled by the stroke of my own hand. Gritting my teeth and cursing again my burst of anger, I stumbled doggedly toward the kitchen to absorb the concept of time.  I pressed through to the living room, squinting begrudgingly at the glowing sun, which was already in full view, tempered by fog and scattered clouds.  I quickly readjusted the heavy curtains in each room I passed, so that not even a narrow shaft of light penetrated the privacy of my home.  I hated the sun.  


I reached the kitchen and peered at the hands on the oven clock.  I couldn’t believe it – I was late for work!  This was the first time in my adult life that I could remember being late.  My mind raced to find something to tell the others at the office.  I knew they were diligently sitting at their desks right now, looking up for me when the door creaked open; then they would look down at their watches … shaking their heads at one another in disbelief.  


“I’ll call the office and tell them I was in a serious accident that nearly took my life”, I said to myself as I continued my search for a good enough lie to walk in late. Then, I imagined the smirk on their faces if I were to come into work as late as I would be today.  


Almost every morning I ruthlessly mimicked anyone, with withering sarcasm, who was foolish enough to walk in late.  

I had always pointed out the associate’s stupidity and obvious lack of dedicated organization!


Because of this, I cowardly decided that I would not be able to handle the stares and incontinent disbelief surrounding my own extreme tardiness.  I would stay home!  I had never used one day of sick leave.  Today would be that day!  I would bring myself to contract the flu.  A flu so debilitating that not even I could bring myself to infect the dedicated workforce at the office with its horrible contagiousness! Yes, it would have to be the most viral strain of the flu – a close relative of the most pernicious Asian flu I could imagine!


Clutching my vocal chords with my left hand, I practiced a death-rattling wheeze in my voice as, with my right hand I dialed and brought the phone to my ear.  I told the surprised secretary of my unexpected, super-contagious infection and quickly hung up.  Did they believe me?  I envisioned a sigh of delight wafting through the office as my absence was gleefully announced.  I instantly reacted.


“Those two-faced jerks!” I shouted out loud to myself, as I slammed my fist down on the kitchen table, realized again my gross unpopularity at the office because of my horrible attitude.  “They do not give me credit for my exemplary dedication to the company which keeps them in a job!” I growled defensively between gritted teeth, consoling my wounded pride. 


I couldn’t win working and I couldn’t win staying home!


Now, I was left with a huge dilemma for a person like me.  What does a workaholic do when one plays hooky from work? 

I supposed I would get as far away from any source of discovery as possible.  I decided to drive out of town for the day.


~ ~ ~


The Mountain and The Voice


I found an old baseball cap and pulled it over my ears as far as it would go.  Hunching down in the seat just enough to see through the steering wheel, I apprehensively drove all the back roads out of town, acknowledging no one and hoping no one would acknowledge me.  Thankfully, windblown fog and clouds began to obscure the sunlight, so my worried and now tearstained face was not as visible to the mid morning traffic. 

I did take the windy shortcut down to the bridge, hugging the shoulder and glaring at the other drivers who took up too much space on my side of the unforgiving, narrow road.


I seldom crossed the river, but I did today.  The narrow-gauged metal bridge hummed unpretentiously as the tread on my tires found traction on the antique, honeycomb grid, which supported the weight of traffic but filtered out the rain and snow.  I balked again at paying the toll, “Why doesn’t the government take this over?” I murmured to myself, loud enough for the methodical attendant to hear, as I begrudgingly handed her the fee.  She smiled as if not to understand, and for another reason, I was glad not to know who she was.


I looked straight ahead, consumed with my own world, glazed in my mind and driving instinctively on autopilot.  I mechanically guided the car in and out of white layers of fog, seeing only the closest trees, while the shrouded images of orchards and farmhouses sped past unnoticed. Higher and higher I went, ‘round twisting curves, unaware of even the sparkling river cascading down right beside the road.  The fog thinned to a sheer of gentle mist.  Staring dimly through it was the glazed outline of a frosty mid-morning sun.


Climbing sharply, the car suddenly broke free from the constricting veil.  Bright sunlight immediately smiled down on me with its full intensity and high above all the fogs on earth I could see an eagle soaring confidently in the clear blue sky.  The autopilot in my mind was shaken from its apathy and switched my robotic reactions into perceptive reality.  I found myself engulfed in the lush forests sheltering the road like silent and majestic sentries, guarding either side of the scenic highway.  


This meandering drive was actually becoming therapeutic to my frayed senses.  Where had I been all my life?  This was wonderful!  I opened both windows and buttoned my coat; I wanted to breathe in as much of nature’s fresh air as I could!  My senses were awakening to the beauty surrounding me.


Rounding a narrow bend in the highway, suddenly, I couldn’t believe my eyes.  I slowed to a dumbfounded stop in the middle of the road. The driver behind me honked anxiously and swerved defensively around my car.  I hardly noticed!  My eyes were transfixed on the sight before me!  I had driven up into the majesty of such a display of natural wonder, that I was awestruck at the panoramic and visually dynamic setting.  This was a glorious view of the most magnificent mountain looming up before me, brilliantly wrapped in a gorgeous robe of snow – consuming all the landscape.  It was silently nestled in the spires of the forest, which framed its gigantic image.  Silvery, soft clouds danced like a halo around its peak, and nothing impaired my view. I was face to face with “The Mountain”.  


Gathering my senses, I pulled the car to the edge of the road and stared again, gaping unashamed. I was transfixed.  Never in my life had I been so close to such a breath-taking, rough-hewn, craggy-peaked, snow-engulfed, glisteningly-wonderful Mountain!


As I looked in amazement, breathing in the clean crisp mountain air, I suddenly and without expectation, experienced the strange, yet familiar Presence, in the deepest regions of my heart – the same Presence that had permeated my dream.  It was certainly God, for there was a clear and certain resonance in His still, quiet, yet profound Voice.  A Voice, who’s Presence, was infinitely greater than even the brilliant glory radiating from this marvelous mountain.  He simply, inaudibly and quietly expressed His Identity to the depths of my soul by saying,

“I AM”.  


The combination of this Presence, with the majesty of The Mountain shook me.  I trembled and bent over on the seat of the car to regain composure.  I stayed there.  


How long I lay there trembling, curled into a fetal position, grappling with my soul, I do not know.  In the overwhelming emotion of the morning and of this experience, I must have fallen into an exhausted sleep, because when I awoke it was late afternoon and I was cold.  My trembling had turned to shivering, so I pulled myself upright again, turned the car on to warm up and closed tight the windows. 


I gazed longingly at the Mountain, to drink in the beauty of its glory.  I not only looked, my soul listened too.  I listened intently, silently straining every resource of the inner frequency of my heart to sense if the “I AM” was still there. Nothing.  All was quiet in and around me, but somewhere deep inside an inner craving began to grow to know the Peace of this Presence – the peace that had been initiated by the morning’s dream and then by the encounter with that same Presence at the Mountain.  I had a deep yearning to experience this peace I had never before known.


As I drove home, an idea presented itself to my mind.  Maybe I could begin looking for this peace by working on my own negative attitude – I certainly had lots to work on!  That night, before going to bed, I made the conscious decision to start treating those at the office more like the way I wanted others to treat me.


~ ~ ~

 

My Confession


The next morning I walked more briskly to the office than I had for months.  When my associates came to work, they were surprised to find that I had recovered so quickly and was back at my desk again.  I nodded curtly to those who acknowledged me, and when they had all gathered diligently for their work, I gave a brief announcement.  “I lied yesterday,” I told them in a straightforward manner.  “I woke up late and was too embarrassed to face you since I continually give each of you such a horrible time when you hurry in at the last moment.  I have been a fool to treat you with such inconsideration in many ways.  I don’t expect you to forgive me, but I will try to be a more understanding manager in this office.”


The world could have ended right then.  You could hear several shocked associates sucking in deep breaths.  My admission was unbelievable to them!  After a long, uncomfortable pause of intense silence, I cleared my throat and awkwardly said,  “My little confession is over now, you can get back to work!” 


Several days later, as I sat down at my desk, I was surprised to find a small note left the evening before.  


I cautiously opened it and found it was from one of the newer members of the company.   No one at work had given me an affirming card or note, ever, so I remember the exact words this card expressed.  


“Please accept our heartfelt thanks for being so

sincerely honest.”


A name was then signed without the customary closing.  The way the note used the word “sincerely” struck a special chord in my heart and I still mull it’s meaning over yet today. “Sincerely.”  “Sincerely honest.”  This word is often used as a mere closing formality in any correspondence, but this time “sincerely” was embodied in the letter.  I liked being “sincerely honest”.  I could see it was much more appealing than being bluntly honest with the piercing insensitivity that had been my usual demeanor.  I propped the note up to the side of my desk and made the conscious choice to be more sincere and gracious with my co-workers. It felt good!


Needless to say, I noticed that my open confession began a process in creating change within the former sterile atmosphere at the office. The ice-cold conditions I had demanded to be “normal” for our work environment began “thawing out”.  People actually talked to each other in congenial ways when they took breaks.  


As much as my calloused and overgrown heart could bear, I kept choosing to be “sincerely gracious”.  Sometimes change happens in subtle ways.  I began seeing the office staff in a different light.  A “miracle” to me was that I even began incorporating those I had formerly considered to be inept, into the “think tank” of business development, and their insights surprised me…they actually were assets!


Notes with words of affirmation or positive constructive suggestions continued to come. These did not flood my desk, but were given occasionally, simply, and unheralded.  The more they came, the more I inwardly smiled…and the more I talked with my associates as equal human beings. The staff could be heard laughing congenially with clients and business began growing in comparable proportion to the deepening warmth of the office.      


~ ~ ~


The Office Windows


Another day came when one of the notes had a simple request. It gently asked, “Could we open the blinds on the windows?”  Everyone knew that the total reliance on artificial lighting in the office was a direct order from me.  I had justified this decision because of some supposed medical condition of my eyes – but, when looking back, I see it could be more attributed to the condition of my soul. The gradual softening of the rigid office environment had made me less threatening to the other associates, so there was no hushed murmur when I called everyone’s attention to the drawn blinds.  


“Someone feels we might work more efficiently in sunlight rather than artificial light.” I announced as I reconstructed the contents of the note. “Would anyone be opposed to opening the blinds?” I asked.  The room fell silent and then several voices pleasantly affirmed their opening.


“OK, it’s done.”  I said in a matter-of-fact voice, “Would someone please open the blinds?”


Two or three more agile associates practically ran over themselves making a dash for the windows.  


I considered their spontaneous eagerness an additional affirmation of the request.


When the blinds were opened I gasped in a short, surprised breath of air.  There, right beside me, at a window not more than four feet from my desk, was my own unique, full view of the Mountain!  


The Mountain had been there all the time; it was I who had been closed to it!  


From that day forward, I enjoyed looking out the open window from my office to bask in the delightful beauty and glory of this picturesque, magnificent Mountain!  


I not only feasted my eyes on the grandeur of the Mountain from my desk, but many times after a long, intense, and weary workday, I drove up on that Mountain to renew my slowly recovering spirit by drinking in its therapeutic presence.


As the daylight lengthened toward summer, in the early evenings or on my days off, I would roam over the Mountain’s groomed trails or rustic narrow deer paths, climbing over the random crisscrossing, musky-smelling windfalls of rotting trees.  I looked with wonder at the graphic abrasions scarring its great cliffs and admired the deep marbled-colored gullies carved under the intense pressure of gorging cloudbursts.


I climbed, at breathtaking heights, on the jagged ridges of that Mountain to regain perspective on the world below me.  I would refresh my thirst by drinking from the cold streams splashing deliciously down swollen rocky gullies or sip from artesian wells bubbling up within the lush forest overgrowth.  “The Mountain” was giving to me completely new satisfaction and my soul was gently being restored!


Because I had begun to personally “touch” the Mountain, I began to comprehend its vast, breathtaking resources much more intimately.  I could have never gained the same understanding by merely viewing simple, wide-angled “snapshots” taken from one of the “scenic, photo-friendly pull-outs” off the fast-laned highway skirting the base of the Mountain.  


Yes, this Mountain and I were becoming acquainted, but I was soon to experience something for which I had not been prepared.  There was a great deal more for me to still know about this Mountain’s deepest crags and rocky crevasses shrouded by long, darkening shadows …


~ ~ ~


The Terrible Spire


One afternoon I was returning home from a business trip that took me on a back road past the far side of the Mountain.  I had never been faced with this particularly distasteful view and audibly questioned myself if this was really the same Mountain.


I had always assumed that every side of the Mountain was perfect in its glory.  Yet this view was not of that craggy, beautiful, almost symmetrical, photogenic display – so dynamically highlighted on the glossy cover pages of advertising brochures.  Instead, the garish image that now revealed itself to me was torn, gaping and cratered. 


An angry spire jutted up from the center of a crater, within a collapsing rockslide, punctuating the despair of this side of the Mountain. The lonely spire proclaimed to all, that it was the hardened and tempered volcanic plug, keeping the hot ash and molten lava safely inside.  






From this vantage point, its catastrophic past was unfolding. The shadowed secret that this majestic mountain had kept from me was the silent revelation of its wounded and broken precipice on the dark side of its glorious peak.  I slowed down, wanting to grasp the depth of the Mountain uncovered for me through this hidden, broken side.


In one way, I wanted to hide this uglier display of reality from the rest of the world…somehow I wanted to cry out, that this scar should never be found on such a beautiful mountain; but in another, deeper sense, the gaping fissures were a genuine comfort.  


Glancing cautiously at this broken image as I drove nearer, my mind flashed back in dismay to the days, when I, in utmost despair, had raised my empty hands toward the God I had rejected – clawing at the heavens to bring some meaning and reason back into my hollow and crumbling world.  


I remembered lying prostrate on the floor in agony asking “Why?”…As I spewed forth my own volcanic bitterness and despair –  “Why had all this happened to me?  What had I done to this God, for Him to hate me so?”


These unanswered questions to my pain, corrupted further by my willful pride, had articulated within me deceptive and desperate attitudes toward God and the world around me.  


I had chosen to cover my feelings and not allow anyone else to see my pain.  I shut everyone out from hearing, or comprehending my despair.  I had decided to present to all the weary, stumbling souls around me, my supposed façade of happiness; my jingle of success; my suave air of superiority – all the while hating and despising my own paltry existence.  


I was oddly similar to this glorious but cratered mountain, and, like this mountain, I realized that I could not forever hide the raw and open wounds of the deep and lasting scars within my own broken heart.


As I contemplated the terrible spire and gaping side of this Mountain, suddenly there was that growing awareness, again, of the Presence who had spoken to me on those first profound encounters – the Voice which became such a longing for me to hear once more.  My spirit listened intently.  I did not want to miss what He said.  I sensed that this might be a revelation of something greater than my ability to comprehend. 


He did not speak as He had spoken before, but I understood the certainty of His impressions on my heart and mind, in the clearest of terms.


God was revealing to me, through this broken side of the mountain, that He too had experienced horrible, inexpressible pain.  This shocked me, since I had expected God to be totally impervious to such humiliation.  I grappled with the unthinkable – that God, in the totality of His all-perceiving greatness, had also personally experienced unfathomably deep, and incredibly searing pain.  


Possibly, through my own inexpressible hurt in some

of the desperate catacombs of my mind, this God was now letting me catch a tiny glimpse of what He, the Living God had profoundly experienced.  


Somehow, I was beginning to perceive that this God fully understood the darkest cry of the most desperate human heart, firsthand.  Because of this, I had now begun to comprehend the stark reality that He could also understand all of me!


Somehow, I knew that this God of Heaven was not like the world’s account of their gods – He was in total contradiction to their gods!  Had the world so confused my mind to hate a God of whom I had no understanding?  Had my perception of the gods of the world so completely skewed my thinking that I could not truly discern who the God of Heaven really is?


As I could not fully grasp the Mountain from mere panoramic viewpoints dotting the highways, in a similar fashion, I could not, through mere casual, curious observation, understand this God of Heaven!  


Adverse circumstances had often stopped me in my tracks and compelled me to look up!  They had drawn me toward God, but somehow something also seemed to drive me away!


Unfortunately, my continuing dilemmas were so frustrating and my worldly information about God, so confusing, that I simply gave up.  I stopped seeking God…I rejected Him instead!


Now, as I gazed at the graphic, visual image on the backside of this Mountain, I saw it as an intensely personal illustration of the destructive, fiercely burning coals of my own consuming anger and frustration.  


I also could now see that the same scars were for me, a visual portrayal of the agonizing grief in the emotion of God’s own heart.  


Because God could see the depth of my pain, was He somehow permitting me to comprehend Him – to grasp a minute part of the suffering and sorrow of His own Being?  Was He allowing me, in the smallest degree, to perceive what those experience, who participate in the fellowship of His suffering?  


I was overwhelmed by the magnitude of these thoughts.  


Somehow I also knew that God’s inexpressible grief seemed to come because of me!  I was included in the rebellious insolence and utter rejection that His creation had heaped upon Him!  


Ancient phrases imbedded in my youthful mind when I was twelve years old, brought my cluttered memory into focus.  “He was pierced for our transgression…He was crushed for our iniquities…and the LORD has laid on Him the iniquities of us all!”  It seems these memories were awakened at this moment to testify for the validity of God’s sorrow.


God’s suffering was obvious to me now, and it was also clear that much of His suffering had come through the overwhelming sacrifice of His own Son – a supreme sacrifice Christ had made for His creation … and for me!


All of these unspeakable mysteries were more than my natural heart could understand.  It was as if a small window into heaven had opened and another amazing perspective of the Person of God was revealed to me.  


I did not know what to do. For a moment I thought God would speak again.  I strained to listen, since it seemed He had begun to whisper to me one of His most intimate secrets… but, just at that moment, the Voice of God’s Presence completely left the perception of my awed, astonished understanding.  


His Voice vanished.


~ ~ ~

 

Blame


As I drove nearer and more parallel to the cratered side, I leaned forward in the car gripping the steering wheel until my knuckles turned white, when I recalled the unfounded and extremely irresponsible bitterness I nursed in my heart toward God – this God I had so viciously denied.  


If I had not been so embittered by my own selfish and insulated pride, I probably would have stopped casting God foolishly aside by cruelly mislabeling Him as the primary source of my own, self-inflicted pain! I had had no use for Him, even before my pain-driven emotions began their explosive accusations.  And, even then, I had accused Him of causing me to suffer.  I had blamed Him for my curse.  


I had discarded Him as irrelevant in my life, but at the same time, I made my every misery His fault!  


With my taunting, wagging finger directly in God’s own Face, I had instead chosen alternative, wannabe copies of Him, to be my esteemed gods.  Sleazy, fraudulent, “golden” in name only, unholy, sensual and selfish gods of this world…I had chosen these impotent, earthly, crude replicas of Him, to be my gods!  


I…I…I.”  What a fool I had been!  Was there not more to life than that which consumed “me”?  Who was this God that I had so accused, maligned and forsaken?


Was my misfortune really His fault?  Had I ever attributed any good thing in my life to be in His account with the same veracity that I had so quickly “fingered” Him?  Was He always the primary source of my own personal tragedy?


Pulling the car over to stop on the shoulder of the road, in full view of the Mountain’s crater, I opened my door and walked around to the other side of the car in the biting evening wind, kicking half-heartedly at the back tire as I turned.  I kneeled down, put my head against the rear passenger door and covered my face with my hands. 


“Oh, God,” I sighed in awful acknowledgment, “I have been so wrong, so wrong about You… please, please forgive me!”


My hands touched the wetness of my bitter-weary tears and my soul felt, as if a heavy, belligerent scab of anger and hatred was being released from its hardened, crowded, pent-up prison; opening up for the first time, in a long time, the softness of my heart.  Then, I suddenly realized that somehow this bitter emotion and anger deep inside me could only be made whole again through a brokenness experienced by God Himself.  


Jesus,” I continued cautiously, “Let Your brokenness find fulfillment through healing the brokenness in me.”  


If the brokenness of that glorious Mountain could bring such a solace to my heavy heart, how much more could the brokenness of the Son of God, bring peace and healing to my desperately sick soul!  


“Please make me whole again!” I cried.  Somehow these things were beginning to make more sense.  My thoughts crowded together, in an overwhelming intense communication between my mind, my emotions and my spirit…centered about God.  


The moments lingered as I knelt, compassionately wrapped in the golden hues of twilight.  Getting up, somberly thinking, I stared a thousand miles beyond the final glow of the sunset fading slowly behind the peak of the broken Mountain.  Walking around toward the driver’s side of the car, I took a deep, quivering but relieved breath, letting it out again in a long sigh.


“Well now, what have I done?”  I questioned myself, sensing a renewed, if not cautious freedom in my spirit.  “I certainly can’t blame God anymore!  I guess I’ll have to find someone else to blame!” I smiled at my confounded words as I fastened my seat belt and started the car.  There could always be someone to blame, but I guess, to be honest, I would have to start with myself!  In reality, though, I knew down deep, that the bitterness of the blame could be gone.  I just wasn’t sure that I wanted it to be totally gone!  


~ ~ ~


“My Confession of No Faith”


It had been a year since the blinds were opened on the windows around my desk.  The attitude of the office had grown perceptively warmer and more inviting throughout the spring and summer.  When December arrived again, there was definitely excitement in the air.  The workplace was happier, friendlier, expectant, and wonder upon wonders, it had become considerably more gracious.  


Several months had gone by since I had received a note of any kind, but someone slipped one on my desk that morning, with the query, “Could we play some Christmas music?”


“Music!”  I said to myself, “What will they want next?”

“OK,” I told the one who sent the note.  “We’ll try it for a few days to see how it works.  You pick out the music.”


Songs filled the air.  Work continued to be productive.  Attitudes improved even more.  I actually enjoyed coming into the office!  As the days passed and the Christmas songs were played, I began remembering words that I had heard my mother sing years before, as she lovingly rocked me in her gentle arms.   I had never known genuine love like that since she died.  My mother also loved Christmas – she was always putting up special decorations and little touches of Christmas, the best we could afford, all around the house while she listened and drank in festive Christmas Carols, then she sang them to me again and again as she put me to sleep.


Even though the music lifted my spirit, I was still troubled in my soul.  Years of scorning God had taken its toll.  What in the world was the big deal about Christmas anyway?  Wasn’t it just a time for spending huge sums of money to brown-nose people you really didn’t even like – or, leveraging a little persuasion on people necessary for your own happiness?  


I remembered how, in earlier years, I thought that my philosophy of life had come a long way from the archaic Christmas stories told by my mother – including what we were taught about God in that little chapel she had taken me to as a child.  


I can still remember the sad and troubled look on my Mother’s face, when, as a budding sophomore in college, I brashly came home and unthinkingly, told her bluntly that her “Bible-God” wasn’t for me any more.  


Peers and professors, especially in the school’s ultra-popular philosophy and religion class, had mesmerized me.  I proudly assured her that I could “take care of my own self from now on”, so, I could choose to worship “anything I wanted to…if I wanted to – if there was even anything out there, because no one really knew for sure, right?”  


Of course, I didn’t question (even though I was so “self-sufficient” and all), if she was still going to support my continuing education from her meager and sacrificial funds (which were absolutely essential for my necessary survival).  But, in her undying, loving support of me, she graciously continued doing all she could, so I would “become successful”.  From that time on, I believe she considerably intensified her prayers for my haughty soul.


In looking back, I guess the real meaning of Christmas had also vanished that day, in “my confession of no faith”.  But down deep, as much as I resisted it throughout the years, I still had the distinct realization that this God was not so easy for me to leave behind… and that He had not left me behind either.  He kept calling at the door of my heart and, secretly, I kept looking for Him to come.


~ ~ ~


The Party Plans


It was strange for me to name anything, but I had found a new name for the Mountain.  Since this season of the year was beginning to be more enjoyable, and since I had “discovered” the Mountain around this same time the previous year, I privately christened it, “Christmas Mountain”.  


Something also seemed to be happening in the office.  December 25th was coming, and the season-conscious associates were gearing up more and more, for the festivities.  


Given my more liberal “office etiquette”, it was taken for granted that I would allow Christmas decorations.  So, up they went, accenting each curtain and adorning each cubicle. My assistant came up with the not so unusual idea of an early office party, since most every other office in town had one.  We all entered in to the planning of the year’s “new” event.  We talked about charades and party games for some of the activities and then we tried to think of some way to close our party.  Someone mentioned the possibility of the Christmas Story being read at the end…“being Christmas and all.”  Who could deny Christmas the Christmas Story? 


It wasn’t necessarily politically correct, but we were all big adults, so sure, why not?  


This was the first year I could remember not being “the Grinch” around the office.  I suddenly realized that I enjoyed participating in the planning and activities! And, miracle upon miracles, I actually enjoyed being alive!  It seemed like it had been a long time since I had felt this positive about life.


I met socially with those who were doing the Christmas party planning – to make the event run more smoothly.  My life was actually becoming relational!  Everyone in the office noticed my slow transformation.  I started showing a tender budding flower of grace, which was growing beyond the façade of my hardened exterior.


~ ~ ~


The Gift


One event the office staff had not shared with me was the presentation of the secret gift following the Christmas Story.  The whole evening had been an undeniable success with games and a crazy ornament exchange.  We were all laughing and joking together when the time came for the Story.  We felt the hushed presence of that first Christmas as we lit candles all over the office and listened.  “And it came to pass that shepherds were abiding in their fields keeping watch over their flocks by night….” The familiar story raised old memories, both good and not so good in my mind – of the ghosts of my Christmases’ past.  


I hadn’t heard the Story all the way through for some time since I had given up Christmas years ago, but its reading stirred my soul unlike times before.  When the reader finished, he closed the pocket-sized New Testament, got up, walked over and handed it to me.  “My gift to you,” he kindly said.  Surprised, I nodded and took it.  God had been speaking to me in several ways, and that evening, He had spoken to me through the Christmas story.  


Breaking the obvious silence, the assistant manager stood up with beaming face and announced that, since we were going to make the Christmas Party an office tradition, those in the office had agreed to another tradition as well.  The most improved associate would be given a special Christmas present. 


“I wasn’t in on this one…!” I defensively and naively mumbled.


“We didn’t want you to be ‘in’ on this one!” my assistant interrupted, overhearing my grumbling, “Because,” she continued, “You are the one we have chosen to get the very first present!”


I was shocked!  I couldn’t believe it.  I was always the last person in years past, to whom anyone would willingly give anything! “I guess I am changing.” I mused quietly to myself.


As if on queue, the back door opened and in walked several associates carrying large packages.


“I thought you said the tradition was going to be for ‘a’ present!” I countered, when I saw more than one gift.


“Oh, but it is ‘a’ present!” They said together as they all laughed.  I was floored. 


They gave me a long narrow box to open first and out came, of all things, a snowboard!  


“What in the world am I going to do with a snowboard – bring it to the meetings of the ‘bored’?  Do you know how old I am?  My neighbors will think I am totally insane when I put one of those little racks on the top of my car!”  I protested.


That made no difference!  They pressed another box into my hands which, when opened revealed boot bindings…then came top quality snowboard boots and finally there was a small, elegantly wrapped box that was placed in front of me.  As I opened it I saw it contained a season’s pass, including payment for several beginning snowboarding lessons, on my Christmas Mountain.  


“Did you guys sell the company for all this?” I asked, knowing what the gifts must have cost them.


The look in their eyes gave the answer.  “We love you boss,” their eyes all seemed to say, “Enjoy The Mountain!” they sputtered, and for the first time, in a long time, I was speechless. And, I think some of us even cried.


~ ~ ~


Snowboarding


Snowboarding lessons had their own degree of difficulty.  I wasn’t particularly adept at sliding on anything – especially snow.  I had spent my whole life avoiding a collision with the ground and I hated the cold – it was only the love and kindness behind the unexpected gift that motivated me to keep going!  


I had to get over my fears because none of my phobias were acceptable for a snowboarder!  I slid, I crashed, I froze and when my “new muscles” required for snowboarding (which I didn’t know I had!) became stiff and sore after a few trips up and down the Beginner slope, I resorted to nursing a hot cup of cocoa in the lodge.  “I wasn’t meant to be a ski bum,” I consoled myself, “but I might be an occasional traffic hazard to a ski bum!”  Still, I was determined not to give up…yet!




It was Christmas Eve day when I took the lift up for the first of several rides down my highest and hardest ski run so far.  The scenery was spectacular.  My hopes were up, my bindings were tight and my fears were high.  There is nothing quite so exhilarating, yet terrorizing, as plunging full speed down the sheer face of a gorgeous mountain!


From the beginning of my lessons, I had been taught to make little zig-zaggy paths for myself so I would not go straight down.  That worked a fair amount of the time, but being new at this, it certainly didn’t work all of the time, and those bumps in the snow didn’t help my progress either.  


Other snowboarders and skiers seemed to recognize me as a true novice at a reasonable distance before reaching me.  As I would be “putzing” back and forth in my little zig-zaggy pattern at near zero speed (it seemed to everyone but me), anybody who could board at all could see my unreliable inability and, at a safe distance, deftly and safely navigate around me.  But, when there was a curve, and I was at the bottom of the curve – out of sight, well, just know that within those first few days of having lessons, sheer terror gripped me on more than one occasion, at “blind corners”, as surprised, sometimes not so jolly skiers and snowboarders, zipped past me on the snow or in the air, in all manner of defensive positions and with all sorts of verbal comments, some of which were thankfully muffled by the fluffy snow and forest!


~ ~ ~


The Crevasse


Christmas Eve was finally approaching!  I had successfully navigated down, a couple of times, my most difficult run on the mountain. I was tired, but my snowboarding had made good progress and I smiled to myself, knowing how far I had come.  


I had just commended myself again when suddenly my wry smile turned to concern as my board caught a nasty edge on the crust that threw me into a particularly awkward slide.  I could not help myself; I could not control my uncoordinated direction. I began plunging toward a landscape that was past the accepted boundaries.  It was becoming to look stranger and scarier all the time. 


Huge rocks poked their jagged tops through the crust of the deep snow like deformed, grisly monsters.  Nearby there were warning signs posted for snowboarders and skiers. I sped past them careening dangerously back and forth, unsuccessfully hoping to regain my balance, my board and my sanity.


“I’m not going to do this again,” I promised myself, not knowing if my comment meant getting myself into this kind of fix again, or simply stopping snowboarding altogether.  “I’m not going to do this again,” I repeated as the level of my panic reached new heights. I wanted to fall and stop the madness, as I had done before, but now the rocks were so close, I was afraid of crashing into them headlong, if I purposely toppled over.  


I could not control my balance and I did not want to fall, but momentum on the ever steeping grade kept me going…going down – the wrong way.


I had been so intent, by closely concentrating on the immediate terrain around me, that I was shocked when my board suddenly propelled my body off a deceptive, snow-covered ledge, momentarily suspending me in mid-air.  I rolled crazily over and over.  As I plunged back toward the icy cliff, jagged rocks pummeled me in my staggering, erratic fall. 


My board snapped and so did something in my left leg.  I was numbed by the etherealness of the experience, so I did not see the huge crevasse opening its gaping mouth to receive my bludgeoned body.  Like the abruptness of a crash dummy’s impact with a solid wall, my freefall was over. It was deathly quiet and awfully dark. Snow has a way of hiding the good and the bad – of covering and dampening, of padding falls, yet soliciting disaster.


I was debilitated on my Christmas Mountain; flushed into a frozen cavern, which could easily become my solitary grave.  Dazed, I shook my head and wiped the caked snow from my eyes and sweating face.  “I ruined my beautiful board!” I thought as I castigated myself, looking at its jagged remains on my boot.  “What will the office staff think?”


The peril facing me had not yet totally connected in my mind. The next thought brought the reality of my situation more clearly into focus.  “I might not make it back to the office.”


My left leg hurt.  It really hurt.  In fact it was twisted into a funny, awkward position that my human flexibility had never been able to accomplish before.


That’s when I started crying out to God.


“Oh, God…Oh, God…Oh, God…” was all I could say.  In fact, it was all I could think.  Pain engulfed my body.  


I was overwhelmed; my absolute helplessness was profound. Gratefully and dangerously, I blacked out.  Warm blood coagulated from a gash on my head under the smothering, nontraditional gauze of my knitted cap.  


Moments later I groggily regained consciousness and my mind raced wildly over a thousand things, as I rationally reconsidered my dire circumstances.


“My cell phone!”  The inspired thought caused my body to surge into action and wince, at the same time.


Uncomfortably squirming back and forth, I squeezed my zipped pockets, searching intently for the telltale lump identifying my cell phone and awkwardly fished it from its secure hiding place, fumbling to turn it on. There wasn’t much time left on its overused battery; I bit my lip, remembering I had forgotten to recharge it lately.  Shaking off the disappointment, I tried to dial the emergency number.  My thinking was dazed and the lack of dexterity in my numb, gloved fingers caused me to hit the wrong digits on my phone.  Each time a recorded message blathered its chiding response.  After several attempts, “emergency” was finally dialed; I have no idea what I said.


I lay in the icy snow pit, helpless and defeated, a weekday warrior who would win at any cost…the lethal phone weapon in my open hand.  I had been overcome by a mere quarter-inch ply of snowboard and some crusty, slick snow.  I looked up longingly at the opening of the crevasse above me.  The access into the real world might as well have been a million miles away. 


I could not move more than a few inches, much less crawl up the seven or eight feet to freedom…only then to face the long walk back home down the slippery Mountainside.


“Help!” I half-heartedly shouted several times as loud as my aching body would allow.  My mind knew that I was far from any source of rescue.  I also knew that random gusts of wind had most likely swallowed my desperate cries for help, disbursing them far away into the dampening forest, even if their sound reached beyond the narrow mouth of the lonely crevasse. “Oh, God…Oh, God… Oh, God….”


Whatever makes mankind pray made me pray now!  My mind crowded itself with requests.  I would catch my emotions retching back and forth in tormented anguish.  God was flooded with questions and anguished pleas for help… serious, serious pleas. 


The very Mountain I had called “Christmas Mountain” had me under its shadow – caught, crushed and imprisoned within the hidden and eerie caverns of an ice cave.  It had forced me to cry out in anguish, it had brought me to my knees in pain, and it was now snuffing out the frail light of my very life, that, before this, was becoming so slowly renewed.


Was it this glorious but terrible mountain’s fault?  Was it God’s fault?  Was my office at fault? Was it my fault?  Who was I to blame now?


Wallowing in the timeless anxiety of my physical pain I focused on another eternity.  Everything became quiet now, all around me.  Snow was falling gently through the opening in the crevasse, softly kissing the agonizing tears on my bruised face.  In the absolute stillness and solitude of this moment on the Mountain, I began to further assimilate the reality of my own impending death.  What would happen when I began this next unknown journey to see God, my Maker… in such a short time from now?  


In previously searching for my phone I had also felt a different sized protrusion in another pocket.  It was the little Bible an associate had given me at the office Christmas party.  That night I had slipped it in a pocket of my parka for safekeeping.  I had never really bothered looking at it before, but it was intriguing to me now. 


Coaxing it out of the deep pocket, I peered at the Bible’s cover, as I activated the dim backlight on the screen of my cell phone with my other hand.  “The New Testament,” I mumbled out loud to myself, as I read the title and glanced at the embossed cross underneath.  I nervously flipped through the pages and stared blankly into the darkness. What a reversal of events!  After everything I had gone through, I was holding a Bible in my hand once again.  I held it somewhat differently this time; I was now going to look in it for the Truth about life! 


Several long and thoughtful minutes went by as I continued randomly flipping the pages and thinking scattered thoughts.  I dropped my arms on to my lap and relaxed my grip. The backlight on the cell phone shut off automatically and the little Bible slid, unrestrained, out of my grasp, down to the snow by my side.  Laying my head back, I began recalling some of those long-forgotten stories of life and God.


I remembered the enjoyment I had as a child, playing with those little pieces of my mother’s Nativity set, putting each of them exactly in a special place, each one turned “just so” to look right at Baby Jesus. It was late that night, but well before I had finished playing, when my inebriated stepfather came into the room and unthinkingly dashed my imaginative role-play with one sweep of his heavy, dismissive hand, accompanied by a gruff, “Git to bed!”  I never played with those little pieces again.  …I then recalled my peers at grade school who made fun of me the one time I managed to pray a little jingle of a prayer over my sandwich at lunch.  …I remembered the kind, but unique folks back at the small chapel my Mom attended.  I smiled when I recalled how afraid I was to say the few verses I had memorized, in front of everybody at the Easter program, but how proud I was to have been chosen to quote them.  


…My mind then shifted to experiences I had as an adult and to the self-confident faces of those hard-nosed professionals who taught me all I knew about wealth and ruthlessness – firsthand …and most certainly, without God.


Then again, almost imperceptibly, within my memory and misery, there came to me the gentle peace of the Presence of His Person.  I relaxed in my weariness, shook spasmodically from the cold and pain, but rested as close as I could to His peace!


I felt down in the snow, by my side, for the little Bible and picked it up again, awkwardly pulling at the thin, red ribbon bookmark with one gloved hand.  It fell open to the second chapter of Luke, and the Christmas Story. 


“Oh yes,” I said to myself, illuminating the pages with the cell phone light, “The office party….” There again were those words from the first Christmas, together with that renewed sense of God’s Presence.  I began slowly reading where the unforgettable story of Christ’s birth had been marked, “And it came to pass that shepherds were abiding in their fields keeping watch over their flocks by night….”


My memory flashed back to the brightness of the office the day those dark blinds were lifted to reveal, right beside my desk, the brilliant sunlight radiating around the glory of that awesome Mountain.  In the same way, God had begun opening the closed, dusty and clouded shutters of my heart to slowly reveal the mystery of Himself and of His Son, the broken Lamb of God, together with His open Word – again, right beside me!  


Somehow, though, my mind continued to violently struggle with its own misgivings and misunderstandings about God.  I was still in the fog of battle!


“I must see beyond the scars of the mind games that have deceived me about God, and the bitterness of my own soul!”  I fiercely chided myself as my thoughts continued to graphically argue in my mind.  I grimaced as I shook my head sharply trying to somehow break off the invisible, unrelenting, clawing hooks of cynicism that had so quickly and easily attached themselves to my mind, but now, were so difficult for me to tear away.  They were choking out my thoughts of God, having grown strong and tenacious from those seemingly innocuous little seeds planted in those early “human philosophy” classes.  Right now, while pondering my imminent death, I was way past needing the acceptance of my socially astute peers, who had cheered my radical change from faith to cynicism.  


I bitterly smiled when I thought of whom I would want to be by my side right now, during these final moments.  My mind raced through the esteemed professors I had so highly respected at University. 


In the reality of this ultimate crisis, would I choose the skeptical teacher of religion to guide me through death, who brazenly had turned my thinking from the true Biblical God? His air of sophisticated sarcasm and a-moral philosophy oozed with provocative aloofness.  


He had used “convincing” references found in favorite, questionable, ancient texts, to prove his philosophical point.  I could see now that these texts obviously also fit comfortably with his own decadent lifestyle – the same reasons, their originators had probably controversially written them in the first place!


I would never choose him to be with me now, what value was his earthy philosophy for my dying soul?


I wanted somebody who was real, not someone clouded in selfish delusion.  I wanted someone who cared about me and my eternal destiny!


I wanted somebody who really knew God.  I wanted someone who understood why there had been a Nativity in Bethlehem, in the first place.  


I wanted to know about the True and Living God of Heaven and I wanted to know about the Sacrifice of His Son, Jesus!  


I wanted to know how I could live in eternity… and I desperately needed to know…right now!


I suppose, since this very evening was Christmas Eve, my mind struggled to find comfort somehow around another set of unforeseen events for another desperate and lonely family.  I imagined myself lying in the cave of the real manger, with the real cows “lowing” and the real Baby Jesus sleeping, on this His evening…the beautiful Baby, over there – right over there, next to that huge rock, He was nestled in a manger filled with hay, just like a little lamb – almost asleep, just like me…except He was completely peaceful.


Then I remembered this beautiful and majestic Christmas Mountain with its catastrophic hidden scars.  I looked over at Baby Jesus.  He would not have the scars on Him yet, but I realized that this little, innocent, precious Baby had, in the redemption of the ages, the predetermined marks of His crucifixion on His hands and His side…as the ancient Prophet had written, “He was pierced for our transgressions….”


Before the foundation of the world this Baby had those marks, because He would become the Sacrificial Lamb of God.  His blood was shed for me!  He is the Lamb to bear all my sin – every blot of my stain.  He bore all my ugly, detestable bitterness and rebellion in His own body.  “…He was crushed for our iniquities…by His wounds we are healed!”  His brokenness bore my brokenness…and He was beside me – right now! 


In the solemn stillness and agony of the moment, I cried out to the Heavenly Father.  “Oh, God…my Father… Thank You for sending Your Son!  Thank You, that through His death, You give new life to my soul….”


I had come to the end of my own striving. What an amazing time to honestly recognize God’s real reason for Christmas.  My heart’s door was opened, and His unexplainable peace came in.


~ ~ ~


I do not recall how my limp body was hoisted by Medevac helicopter from its likely burial chamber on Christmas Mountain.  I still shake my head in disbelief when the rescuers tell how they found me. 


An emergency operator had received my garbled, almost incoherent call and had dispatched a ski patrol.  I am told a member of the patrol found and followed the telltale markings of my erratic descent.  When the trail stopped abruptly, choosing to simply be quiet, stay still and listen, he lifted the warm coverings from his ears, turned off his flashlight, and raised his eyes to scan the brilliant, star-filled sky.  


He strained to hear anything, on that dark, still mountainside, that might give him a hint of what to do next.  Right then, he providentially heard the muffled, but distinct, ominous tones of my cell phone, warning that the battery was almost exhausted and the phone was about to shut off. 


After hearing this barely audible clue, the rescuer had called the other members of the patrol and in a short time they had discovered my twisted, shivering body along with part of my beautiful broken snowboard in that ugly crevasse that had entombed me.


~ ~ ~


It took several months for me to recover physically, but only moments for me to express my sincere, honest, gratefulness to God… for the peace I was given in the Shadow of Christmas Mountain!