Everything in me screams, “To the summit!” I notice mountains in the background of photos before I see the person standing front and center. I scan passing cars for the Washington license plate just to catch a glimpse of majestic Mount Rainier. And can you guess where my favorite vacation spot would be? That’s right: the mountains.

Now before I go further, I need to explain something to you. It always turns out that at this point in my conversation about mountain climbing, the listener interjects a question. It’s not just any question. It’s one of those open-ended questions that requires more than a simple yes or no. It requires an explanation. So before you say anything, I’d like to go ahead and answer your question of “Why?”

Why do I climb? Yes, I have to question my own reasoning at times. It usually comes at that point in the climb when my legs are burning and my lungs are gasping for air. I’m craving things like sausage because I passed 12,000 feet a long time ago, and to me, sausage only tastes good after 12,000 feet.

My hands and feet are swollen from the quick increase in altitude (and they’re starting to look like sausages). My pack feels about 50 pounds heavier than it did when I started, and the only thing I can think of is how nice it’d be if I, at this moment, awoke to find myself in my nice cozy bed at an elevation of 734 feet.

That’s usually the time I start thinking, Why am I doing this? What can I gain from pressing on? Shouldn’t I stop here? Just when I’m about to give in to the what-were-you-thinking-when-you-agreed-to-do-this mentality, something inside of me whispers one word — a word that makes me cringe as I think of it because I know that once I say it, I have no choice but to put one foot in front of the other, grip my ice axe tightly, and press on. “Nevertheless.”

A Life-Changing Word
Nevertheless is a great word. It’s used between two thoughts and means that although the first thought may be completely true, it holds little power in light of the second. Nevertheless offers no explanation, no persuading or coaxing me to throw down my pack and curl up in a fetal position. I use this word — nevertheless — and press on.

Now you may be thinking, If this word — nevertheless — is the driving force behind her determination, then when she’s about to give up, she must simply say, “Nevertheless, I will get to the top!” If that’s what you’re thinking, whew . . . we’ve got more to talk about.

You see, in the midst of a series of successes and failures, I’ve learned a few things. One of the most important things (and please write this down) is that it’s not all about getting to the top. In fact, once I get to the top, I only have a few minutes before going back down. The summit is a dangerous place. It’s where I’m most vulnerable to the weather. The top is a brief moment in comparison to the rest of the journey.

So if it’s not all about the top, why do I do it? Pay close attention to this next part because I’m about to contradict something you learned in fifth-grade English. I’ve learned in all my climbs that the summit is actually somewhere between the bottom and the top. Now I know what Webster has to say about the summit, and he certainly doesn’t refer to anything in the middle. But just think about this for a moment.

I’ve told you about the struggles I go through as a climber. Remember the burning legs? The gasping lungs? The sausage-like fingers? As I climb, those are the points I anticipate more than any other. Those are the toughest parts of the climb. If I’m going to give up, it’s most likely that I’d fall over and sob at those times.

Keep On Keeping On
But remember my favorite word? Nevertheless. Yes! When that word is said, the pain no longer matters. The air is forced into my lungs, my stomach lays aside its bizarre cravings, and my body pulls everything together to press on.

It’s in that moment that I step onto my definition of the summit. If the weather prevents me from reaching the top, it doesn’t matter. I’ve already succeeded. The mountain’s been defeated. I’ve gone to my limit. I’ve hit the wall, and I’ve pressed on nevertheless.

Now do you know? Do you understand why I climb? I think Christ knew more than anyone the power of that word — nevertheless. He anticipated the tough spots, those moments when He wanted so badly to say, “Take this cup from Me! I don’t want to die! The pain is too much!” He knew it was coming. He prayed as the hour drew near.

I’m sure Satan was excited, thinking that he had won, but Satan didn’t anticipate what Jesus said next.

“Nevertheless,” He said, “not My will but Yours be done.” That was the deciding moment for Jesus, for all of mankind. In that word, Jesus promised you and me that when the pain was unbearable, when the humiliation made Him ache,
nevertheless . . .

That’s why I climb. I climb because somewhere between the bottom and the top, somewhere in the tough spots I call the summit, I’m reminded of all the “nevertheless” moments in history: soldiers, presidents, mothers, fathers, firemen, doctors and the greatest “nevertheless” statement of all from Jesus. It’s then that I can put one foot in front of the other, grip my ice axe tightly, and press on.