Image by Izhar Ahamed

My Real Memoir

I felt like a primordial planet with a molten heart and ever-shifting continents. What shape would I eventually take? I didn’t know. I only knew that my Creator was still molding me.

In September of 1977, my church screened a film series entitled How Should We Then Live? It was based on a book by Francis Schaeffer, one of the most influential theologians of the 20^th century. Time magazine had labelled him an “evangelist to the intellectuals.” Like me, he’d crawled through a minefield of philosophical doubts to reach a rational faith.

I learned that Schaeffer led a teaching community high in the Swiss Alps. It was called L’Abri, “The Shelter.” Captivated by the thought of breathing in spiritual truths amid clean Alpine air, I determined to visit L’Abri someday.

In the meantime, I decided to create my own little retreat in the local San Bernardino Mountains where, ironically, I’d first begun to doubt God’s existence. In fact, I planned to take the same trail my summer camp group had followed to the top of Old Greyback, Southern California’s highest peak.

And so, on Columbus Day weekend, I borrowed my actor/director friend Theo’s backpack, and headed for the heights.

I soon learned two things in quick succession: 1) The main trail to the top of Old Greyback was closed; 2) Seasoned hikers carry elevation-indicating topographical maps for a reason.

The alternative trail I chose took me to a pristine meadow at the base of Old Greyback. And from there it was a mile to the peak. Just one mile. Straight up. I laughed. A deer stared in disbelief as I tilted my head back—way back—to see my destination. “I know,” I said, “I’m crazy.” Then I drank from a spring-fed brook. Sang. Laughed some more. And decided to go for it.

The next morning, I resumed my hike. Correction, climb. After a muscle-tearing, sweat-sucking two hours, I saw that the ground above me finally levelled off. Aha! A trail! Not exactly. The moment I put my hand on it, my fingers curled over the other side. It was a razor-topped ridge no more than five or six inches wide. I carefully pulled myself up, and straddled it like a sawhorse.

With a 500 foot drop on either side, my life could end any moment. If any bit of the ridge should give way, there’d be nothing I could do. My anxiety flared up. If I just leaned to the left... Then, suddenly, I felt giddily free. The scene was indescribable, unworldly. It was as if I had a quantum view of reality and could see life from all sides at once. “I don’t know if you put me here or I put myself here,” I told my Creator. “I only know my life is in your hands—right where it should be. If I die, I’ll be with you. And if I live, I’ll know it’s for a reason.”

Either prospect was exhilarating.

I survived a twenty-minute ridge-hugging shimmy to the nearest hillside. Then managed to half-stumble, half-climb my way through six hours of impromptu switchbacks. Finally, fingers raw and toes bubbling with blisters, I found the topmost stretch of the Old Greyback trail. I arrived at the peak near dusk. The darkling sunset and distant city lights were beautiful, but anticlimactic. I’d already found the reason I came.

I was alive, and there was a plan. Only God knew what it was. But it certainly involved more than just making a living. Churchill had said, “We make a living by what we get, but we make a life by what we give.” I wanted to give what I was sent to give.

Christmas came, and I kept inviting God into family conversations. Afterward, Mom took me aside and advised me not to get “too into” my newfound faith. “Mom,” I replied, “Jesus said he was ‘the way, the truth, and the life.’ You can’t get ‘too into’ the way, the truth, and the life.”

How should I then live?

My Real Memoir is a series. To read the next one, click here.