Obrando en la Viña: I Am Not My Boot

I come from a flat city. The highest hill I ever had to climb was my neighbor's driveway while I was learning to ride a bike. Tay and I flew down that thing so fast that it left me breathless. Three whole feet tall. My little mountain.

That little mountain became the hill behind the junior high...which soon morphed into the massive flights of stairs that filled my high school to the brim. I graduated to higher hills when I packed my clothes into boxes and found myself far from home, ready to study and discover the world. I knew a couple of heartbreaks on that climb from the stadium to the apartment... The wind bit my cheeks, but Logan's too cold to cry.

I always marveled at the mountains. I never understood why they hurt so bad to climb.
I kept my focus on the next one and kept on pushing, dripping with sweat and with thoughts of "when I get there, it'll be better."
But the grass isn't always greener on the other side. There's always another mountain right behind the one we're climbing. It never gets easier. We're never done climbing. If we're not happy now...we'll never be happier.

My Father called me on a mission. "Chile, Viña del Mar." How awesome it will be to walk by the sea. I'm tired of the "College Life" hills. A change of pace will be easier. Something scenic will be nice.

I learned the word "heartbreak" on the slopes of Quillota--a little bunny hill to start out on. We gave them everything; in the end, they decided, "Lo siento, pero no." But I saw miracles there.

I learned how to cry in the hills of Illapel. Tears of exhaustion and loneliness drowning in waves of disappointment. The sun bleached my hair and burned my skin, but I learned the word "service," and I learned to have faith. To believe in the ones who can't even believe in themselves. I learned how to look for beauty in the middle of desert. We were nowhere even close to the sea. I learned how to shed them and forgive as you do. But I saw miracles there.

He called me to Chorrillos. My first day, we climbed the mountain. I arrived exhausted at the top. There is no more mountain. We live right up on the peak. There is not a single hill behind this one. There is nothing more to see up ahead.

I took a breath. I turned around.

The valley is flooded with light, a thousand twinkling campfires and bonfires and fireplaces all shoved into little windows and streetlamps and head lights.
The stars glitter up there in the heavens.
Those street lamps glitter along a thousand sleepy streets.
The skyscrapers glitter against the sea.
There is nothing but darkness...
...There is nothing but light.

I feel like a little girl, riding my bike down the neighbor's driveway.
It takes my breath away.

I always marveled at the mountains. I never understood why they hurt so bad to climb.
I kept my focus on the next one and kept on pushing. The grass was always greener. I never understood.

Now I understand.

He says, "Hijita, come join me at the top. The trip'll take you 20 years. I'll give you 80. Take a moment to stop and see the view."

Take a moment to stop and enjoy the view.

I never loved my mountains. They hurt me. They stretched my baby muscles, and they often made me cry. I turned 8 before I learned to ride a bike. Eight years of staring at the driveway before I finally learned to fly. And when life pushed me off--I forgot the years of practice and didn't even try.

I let my mountains beat me. They loomed up above, and I got scared. They grew faster than I did. I missed my little bunny hills. Then My Father called me on a mission... Now I know what "mountain" means.

Now I understand His plan.

This mountain's not for climbing. If all we do is push, we'll get there way too fast--winded, red-faced and sweaty. A person who wore themself out trying to get to the top. Not quite ready for the photo shoot waiting for us when we do. But He doesn't ask that. He never asks that.

He wants back a child who has stopped to smell the roses, who has stopped to help his brother--who paused to fly a kite. Who doesn't hide from the sunshine, and who dances with the butterflies sometimes.
He wants back a child who stops to count the stars...to find the constellations. Who pauses to enjoy the sunset and who turns their face to the rain.

My mountain has a breathtaking view of the city, a city bigger than I had ever seen before. It's got a view of the ocean and and a thousand glittering lights and a million glittering stars... My mountain has a view of the most beautiful sunsets... A view of a thousand hurdles hurdled and a valley green with tears... Swimming in a thousand "hellos" and the voices of smiling people singing. They hug me when I'm tired.

My mountain has a breathtaking view of the past... And the beautiful promise of future.

And the sight?

It takes my breath away.

I've come to love my mountain. I love it when it hurts me, and I love it when it roars. And sometimes, when I'm climbing--when I get too tired and my mountain threatens to buck me off...when the perfectionist in me lies that I've got to get there now--I pause... I take a moment... and I turn around.

The view reminds me that I've got 80 years left to make it.

Love you!
Hermana Sanford