Just some early morning thoughts from me to you…

And many peoples will come and say, “Come, let us go up to the mountain of the LORD, To the house of the God of Jacob; That He may teach us concerning His ways And that we may walk in His paths.”

Isaiah 2:3 (NASB)

I would venture a guess that you too have had them before. Those quiet still mornings when you are all alone, before anyone else is awake.

Special mornings where fresh thoughts drift to somewhere inside, where you haven’t been in a while—before the news begins to filter in for the day, and as the sun gently tiptoes across the yard.

Mornings where you’ve felt energized and uplifted by all the memories from your yesterdays, the reminders of the blessings coming your way today, and the hope in all your tomorrows.

You’re ready. Ready for the day. Ready to climb.

Maybe it had something to do with the events of this past weekend or that glorious day fifty years ago.

I don’t remember exactly how I got there, but the chances are that I hitch-hiked a ride to see it. You could do that back then without fear of adverse consequences. And since I didn’t get my driver’s license until I was nineteen, that mode of travel was my only option, other than walking.

The ticket to the movie cost me a night’s wages from my dishwashing job at the all-night diner down on the beach. I was a very, very young seventeen-year-old junior in high school, as I sat there all by myself in a theater full of people captivated by the story line and music of the movie release of “The Sound of Music.” And much like the quiet of this very morning, it touched something inside me that day inspiring hope, as it still does today, these fifty years later.

I have watched the movie many times and with our two granddaughters. They were mesmerized by the music, the children and story of the Von Trapp family as they danced across the screen and climbed the mountains in the beautiful Alps across Austria and Switzerland.

At one point, the lyrics and musical score of Climb Every Mountain soar from the screen and across the room, lifting everyone to aspire to all that their lives can be on every threshold of every brand new day.

Climb every mountain, search high and low,

Follow every by-way, every path you know.”

You couldn’t help but be lifted toward the dreams which have been long imbedded in your heart. You could sense the strength bubbling within you that would enable you to overcome even the most difficult of times you have faced or will.

Climb every mountain, ford every stream,

Follow every rainbow, till you find your dream.”

You couldn’t help but be moved to evaluate the important things in your life, and return to a place of trust in the God who created you and all the beauty depicted in the landscapes flowing across the television screen.

All going on as you found yourself committing to climb whatever mountain was before you, to continue to climb toward becoming the person God created you to be.

Perhaps, just perhaps, you would climb toward the beauty of relationships restored; toward lives to be improved, and people to be loved just as they are, and lifted to become all they were created to be. Perhaps you would begin to climb toward and with your children and grandchildren, nieces and nephews, Godchildren and grand-Godchildren and friends and neighbors. Perhaps you would be moved to begin anew the climb—not toward things and achievements—but toward making a difference in just one life—and then another, and then another—at a time.

A dream that will need, all the love you can give,

Every day of your life, for as long as you live.”

And perhaps you would begin again to climb hand-in-hand with and toward the God who is always there, waiting, watching, encouraging and climbing with you toward a life that really matters. Toward a life that changes the world around you—one life at a time. Perhaps even yours, and even mine, for all eternity.

It touched something deep inside me fifty years ago, as it still does today, and on quiet mornings and days such as these.

In His Name—Scott


Copyright 2015. Scott L. Whitaker. All rights reserved.