King of the Mountain

My Aunt Ruth and Uncle Bob lived less than a mile from us when I was a kid. They didn’t have a farm like we did, but they did have a very large lot. On that lot down next to the Stuart Smotherman Road, a little country road, there was a huge pile of dirt. I guess it had been there forever. My recollection of that pile of dirt is from that of a small child’s mind. I’m thinking it must have been at least ten feet tall, maybe more, and it extended probably fifteen feet away from the road. It had been packed hard from years of natures hot sun and rain; it was an idea place for kids to play.

My cousins, Bill and Diane, and the neighborhood kids, enjoyed climbing on what we called the mountain. That mountain was frightening to me, a kid only seven or eight years old. Most of the other kids were older than me. They let me play although I really didn’t do much climbing until I was eight or nine, but even then that mountain scared me to death. It had very little slope, almost straight up, I thought. We were only able to climb the mountain because my cousins had dug hand and foot holds all over it from top to bottom which supported us as we climbed. We would put our hands and feet inside those holes and work our way up and around until we achieved our goal.

Making it to the top was hard. But that feat was even more difficult when playing a game my cousins created. The game was called King of the Mountain. All the participants tried to be the first to reach the top. Anything was allowed to prevent the others from being first—pushing, shoving, grabbing a leg, whatever gave the advantage. Just when someone was about to become King of the Mountain they often found themselves sliding or falling all the way to the bottom. Sliding down that mountain while watching the pinnacle move further and further away was disheartening, and the feeling I felt in my stomach was eerily disturbing. It was like being on one of those spinning rides at the county fair.

I don’t  think I ever won that game, but I enjoyed it anyway despite the many skinned knees and elbows and other minor injuries. The important thing about that game that I learned as I got older was to choose carefully the way up the mountain. Some of those climbing holes were closer together and gave a more direct path to the top. Others were spread out and would lead to a point which made the climb almost impossible. I realized too late that that path up the mountain would take me nowhere.

Finding out too late that we have worked and climbed our way through life and have gone nowhere is extremely disturbing. Taking the easy path, or being lead astray by the wrong persons, the wrong life choices, and treading the dangerous slippery slopes of life will take us to places we don’t want to go. Jeremiah 29:11 gives us something we should always remember, “For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the LORD, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.” It we take the path God has laid out for us we will avoid a lot of those scratches and bruises and disappointments that the wrong path provides. Following the ways of the world will never give us what we need and what we should want. Chose carefully the path you will take. Pray and listen to the voice of God. Let the Holy Spirit be your guide and you will reach the top of the Kings Mountain.