Finding Everest

My friend was buried today.  Since I heard he'd died its been a slow seep.  Thoughts whirl through my brain, weaving together the awareness he's gone and knowing the loss that means for many, along with the keen awareness of who he's now likely reunited with.  His story is his and his family's to tell, not mine.  But I can tell how he steadied me, us ... along with so many others.
Just two weeks after Phoebe died, we sat in a room with strangers, people we'd never met ...and didn't want to meet.  Here we were, surrounded by people who knew, in the truest way, the agony of our place.  They listened, they nodded, they cried with us ...they helped carry the burden and told us it was okay to be so broken and shattered.  They told us it was okay to be in the space we were in, while the rest of the world resumed its normal patterns ...we could just be ...and it was okay.  One of the forces behind this group of people was my friend.  I'd come to know him over time, through brief exchanges, a few cups of coffee ...but mostly by listening.  He didn't take up a lot of air time, didn't demand anything.  But what he shared had purpose and power and laid the foundation that let us begin to rebuild.  We are where we are today largely because this man allowed himself to be an instrument for God.
When I called upon God and raged incredulous that He'd left us, other people came, a faint sign that God still lingered on the fringes of our lives.  This friend was one of them.  One story he shared resonates with me still.  I've written about it before.  Called "Stepping Stones" it speaks of reaching out, holding hands and guiding each other across and within the hurt and pain ...to more certain, steadier ground.  We teach each other to keep on living, give each other permission to laugh again and smile.  We teach each other that tears are okay, we'll catch each other's.  And we teach each other that we will learn to live with the pain ...some days far more easily than others.
When you're new to losing a child, someone just ahead can reach back, hold your hand and guide you to the next stone.  My friend was that first stone for hundreds, if not thousands of people.  My friend.  I will miss him; but I am eternally grateful to have known him.  I imagine there's a whole slew of children who greeted him ...and likely he knew everyone ...and they know him.  In my mind I can see Phoebe catch his eye and giggle.  "I know all about you Phoebe ...and you're everything your mom told me you are," he'd say to her. I like to think they've met...shared a laugh
Many years ago I became fascinated with Mt. Everest.  I'd read an article about one horrific season when far too many lives were lost.  There was lots of controversy and it intrigued me enough to read more. My research was haphazard, no rhyme or reason.  If I saw a book, an article, photos I'd dive in and absorb all I could.  Time of year didn't matter; I paid no specific attention to what was going on in that present time with Everest.  But after Phoebe died, I found myself drawn to Everest in a more intent and intense way.  That first May following my loss of her I'd look for articles, updates on how the climb that season was going.  May is the summit month, a very brief window of opportunity to stand at the top of the world. I started learning the names of teams making summit bids, their climber/guide ratios, climber/sherpa ratios, cost, requirements.  I learned the geography of the mountain even more and how weather throughout the year might affect the summit bid the following May.  Weather patterns distant from this mountain could affect the conditions in various places on their vertical climb.  I started watching and researching sooner and sooner in the year.  I'd read about training schedules individual climbers had themselves on.  I'd read and learn who arrived in Kathmandu in March, what teams were sending sherpas to stake out their territory at base camp as early as February, who had already arrived and what the strategy was this year to acclimatize.  I had my favorites, teams I knew would have been wisely and safely selected, leaders who demonstrated, year after year, sound judgement.  I watched and waited as I knew favorites would wake in the dark of night to climb to the top.
Why am I so taken with this mountain, these climbers?  I am no mountain climber.  I have no aspirations to take enormous risk to experience the exhileration of being on top of the world.  So why?
What started as a curiosity became a passion after Phoebe died.  And why?
One of the trickiest and most treacherous areas of the Everest climb is the Khumbu Ice Fall.  Base camp sits at the the bottom of this dangerous landscape of shifting chasms and crevices that run wide and deep.  Ladders are laid out, stretching across gaping fissures in the glacier.  Climbers leave early enough in the morning to cross over, before the morning light and temperature invite the Ice Fall to yawn and stretch, making for greater danger.  Avalanches are common.  Seracs sit poised, waiting to let loose.  They can stay put for decades, a constant reminder of the threat this mountain poses. Position and timing of the climbers minimize the danger. The whole climb poses danger, but this one area is like steroids on top of steroids.
Adequate preparation to 'safely' attempt the summit, requires crossing the Khumbu Ice Fall over and over, forcing the human body to build more red blood cells so oxygen levels stay decent.  There's so many details to a proper climb, I couldn't begin to spell it all out here.  This year, two weeks ago, 16 people died on Everest in one fell swoop.  A serac, which is basically, an enormous icicle broke free, sliding down in house size pieces, taking anyone in its wake.  It all happened at the top of the Ice Fall.  Good Friday.  My son texted me the news and my breath left me. I felt like my friends had been hit.  People I cared about were overcome by the force of nature.  There was no way they could survive such a thing.  There would be no summit bid this year.  Multiple reasons led to this season's climb being cancelled: out of respect for the sherpas who died, their families, along with infused political shenanigans. The outfall of the deaths escalated pre-existing tensions to dangerous levels.   Teams packed up and left base camp.  These teams I've watched and learned so much about headed home.  My season ended.
But I beg the question again.  Why am I so taken, absorbed, fascinated by Mt. Everest and the people who climb it?  How could I be so moved, affected by events happening there?
When I heard my friend had died, I spent a lot of time thinking about him and all he's offered to others.  I thought about what he taught me, through words, but mostly actions.  I realized this friend of mine taught me to climb through the Ice Fall.  He taught me to gauge the temperature, watch the time of day, get my equipment together, check it over and over again.  Most especially, he taught me not to venture onto this treacherous terrain without a team, without others carrying the same kind of pack, the same kind of risk.  He taught me to travel this ever-shifting, risky terrain with others who'd trained as hard as me.  He taught me it would never, ever be easy ...that it would never, ever be safe.  He taught me the only way I could reach the summit was to cross over the Ice Fall, and I needed to be willing to practice that over and over again.
I'm still practicing.  My friend reached the summit of his Everest climb.  He found his Everest ...but only after teaching so many of us how we might find ours too. 
My friend was and is an answer to prayer.  God used him to answer my prayer in a very physical way.  God guided a man, to extend himself to those of us staring at the dangerous landscape, and affirm us that we could indeed cross over. 
Please pray for my friend, for his family ...