Lillian Lake I, II & III

That was what Matt nicknamed Lillian Lake, Galatea Lake, and Upper Galatea Lake. I think he might have been hinting that all the lakes looked the same to him or similar enough that he couldn't justify more kilometers up a mountain to look at another. I nicknamed him pack mule because as he hiked beyond our set destination his facial expression eloquently communicated a calm submitting to his fate as he reluctantly plodded on after Dad who all but ran up a mountain with his fishing poles with me somewhere in between them.

But everyone in my family knows that if Dad tells you you are going for a canoe trip down the Bow River, you can count on paddling upstream and carrying your canoe back to the point before the rapids to experience them over and over again, and if he tells you that you are hiking to a certain destination such as a lake, you can count on taking a few hiking side trips or extensions on the way. Even while it can be irritating you have to admire that level of enthusiasm.


This was supposed to be our John Wayne pose. Clearly Matt hasn't watched enough westerns with my Dad. Or have you watched any? Have you actually gone five years of marriage without watching a western movie with my Dad, Matt?

While hiking up to Galatea Lake a personal analogy came to mind. That happens a lot when I am in nature, I think because there is a lot of uninterrupted time to quietly reflect (I love that Matt and my Dad can both enjoy silence like me). My inspiration came when I turned to look behind me on my climb up the mountain above Lillian Lake. I was instantly struck by the breathtaking view, and by how much it contrasted with the view I had been focusing on most as I climbed- my feet.

I think my perspective of life is like that a lot. I feel like the horse wearing blinders, wearily pulling it's burden as it stares down at the ground to watch his footing. Too often I have a narrow tunnel vision of the earthly routines and troubles immediately before me. Sometimes I am suddenly touched by a scripture, or a thought shared in conference, or the spirit I feel in the temple and for a brief instant the scope of eternity seems to unfold before me and for a moment I revel in the beauty and glory of that vision. I understand. The view is breathtaking.

And fleeting. The instant I turn my gaze to the rocks that I am afraid I will stumble on, it is gone. The feeling of wonder that was at the instant it was felt, so poignant, is past.

Like the moment in my journey up the mountain when I paused to contemplate where I had come from and where I was going, my life on the earth takes on so much more purpose, beauty and meaning when I contemplate it in the context of the plan of salvation. I need to strive to do more of the things that will constantly keep that vision before me so that the "blinders" life places on me can be shaken off and I can see and comprehend more clearly. That is after all the reason I am here.