Many years ago I had a dream about hiking on a mountain trail. As I rounded a bend in the trail, my pastor at the time (Mike Bickle), jumped out from behind a rock and grabbed me. In the dream this annoyed me and delighted me. The closest I came to interpretation was that my pastor represented God and that God sometimes surprises us in the mountains. Yes, I know that’s a lame interpretation—but I like to stick to the obvious.
I still associate going to the mountains with encounters with God. Obviously there are many Biblical reasons to associate mountains with God: Mount Sinai, Mount Zion, Mount Pigsah, Mount Carmel, etc. So yesterday I packed my daypack, gassed up the car, and took off for Mount Bolivar, the highest point in Coos County. Last year I had climbed up the mountain and had a great time praying at the summit. I had decided to repeat the experience.
It is a long drive to Mount Bolivar, some of it on a one-lane, pot-holed road and some on a looping detour on a rutted gravel road. But the first twenty miles of road from Myrtle Point is good, so I was talking with God as I cruised along. About three miles out, I sensed the presence of God, got some direction on questions, and had a few minutes of communion with God. Okay, I know for bunches of Christian this is everyday stuff. For me, however, this was monumental.
I was delighted and annoyed. After all, I was driving 60 miles and then going to climb for two hours so I could commune with God on the mountain. Mountains are cool, and I am cool because I climb mountains to pray. Then God ruins it all by jumping out at me three miles out of town. And sure enough, I get to the top of the mountain and nothing much happens. I pray, but with neither fervor nor direction. I don’t hear God saying anything. What’s the point of writing a script if God isn’t going to stick to it?
