Uphill—Both Ways?

I grabbed my baseball cap, dabbed some sunscreen on my face, tied my running shoes, and headed out the door. It was bright and hot outside—but the air was dry. The sun that shines over Alberta’s Canadian plains can dazzle—but, the air is mercifully dry.

I spoke at the Western Canada Convention of the Church of God, north of Calgary, last week. The church owns a stunning 40-acre retreat center above the Red River Canyon, as it slices between steep cliffs at a place called Deer Valley Meadows. The retreat center’s buildings hug the hillside, which drops dramatically to the river below, a tapestry of green meadows, wildflowers, and evergreen trees. Across the canyon, vast fields of bright yellow canola stretch endlessly, undulating and incandescent in the bright afternoon sun.

I walked down the road that leads to the gate, checked my watch, and started to run. The gravel road climbs slowly to the highway beyond. The fresh scent of evergreen, mixed with cottonwood, was everywhere. The sky was absolutely brilliant blue, sharp and clear. There was not a sound except the cushioned press of my feet falling at a steady pace on the ground below.

It was a workout though. The heat. The incline. Finally, I found the top of the hill and the smooth pavement of a two-lane provincial highway.

Hmmm. Let’s see. Which way to run. There’s a hill to the left. Another hill—but it looks less-of-ahill—on the right. Two roads diverged. Oh, nevermind. I’ll go right. Looks easier.

I picked up my pace now, the incline less than the dirt road before. I got lost in thought for a while, thinking about home. My wife. My sons. My parents. Seattle. Anderson. Madison Park. What I’m going to preach about later that day. Will there be hot water in the lodge showers when I get back? Or, will all of the guys playing sandlot volleyball have used it up? My mind wandered.

Whew. When is this hill going to end? I see the crest up ahead. Maybe I should turn back. No, I’m determined to run for 40 minutes—I’m not cutting it short just because I’m running uphill in a foreign country and have no idea where I really am.

At the top of the hill, the road opens ahead, level and flat. Nice. Okay, so I’ll go for another 10-15 minutes, before turning around. The canola and wheat on either side are breathtaking, as a warm breeze gently waves across both.

Time to turn back. Boy, that last leg, on the even ground, was just right. As I crossed over the deserted highway and turned to retrace my steps I gasped. What I thought had been an easy level run was actually downhill. I had been running downhill ever since I came to the crest 15 minutes ago. I couldn’t believe it. I stared upward at the highway as it climbed back toward the opposite horizon. How could I have not noticed? How could I have kept running, imagining I was “on the level” when I was actually descending?

I ran back up the hill. Ouch. The sun was searing now, my shirt was drenched with sweat, and the beautiful deck overlooking the Red River Canyon was the stuff of my dreams. That run back up the hill was as draining as any I had experienced in a long, long time. I made it—but I earned that hot fudge sundae I’d eat later (after the evening service).

Finally, at the top of the hill (again), I began running down. It was a gentle slope—it appeared a lot gentler going down than up—and I found myself, at last, at the retreat center’s gate once more. I stopped and took my pulse. One hundred sixty-eight beats per minute. For an old guy like me, well, that’s a workout.

As I cleaned up, I kept thinking about how much like life that run across Canada had been. We all know we have to climb sometimes—but, oh how easy it is to imagine that we’re holding our own, staying level, when in fact we’re going downhill. The decline can be so incremental, so subtle, that we don’t even notice it, until the moment comes when we have to turn around. Then we realize how far down we’ve come—and how strenuous it will be to get back to where we started.

That’s why the disciplines—the instruments—of Christian life are so important. The Scriptures are a daily check, to keep us moving upward and forward. Prayer helps, too. And, the scrub and encouragement—the compass—that a growing relationship with the Body of Christ can provide is irreplaceable. Indispensable. The Holy Spirit works through all three to keep us moving heavenward.

Join the journey with us at Madison Park. Connect. Grow. Serve. Sign up for the next Join the Journey class online. It’s for everyone, no matter how long you’ve been here. And then, get into a small group that networks with the larger church family. You’ll find the run a lot more satisfying that way. You’ll stay in shape. And, your chances of running downhill will be next to none.