I Lift My Eyes Unto the Hills

After planning for months and months (actually years and years) for our "Great Family Vacation West", I spent our four days of vacation in Cody, Wyoming in a hospital room—the first day following surgery was spent in Intensive Care and the last three in a room on the third floor. The sun shone brightly in my room each and every morning. Not only that, but I noticed immediately that I had a room with a view!

The nurses thought I was kidding. They would come in and ask me if I was sure that I didn’t want them to close the blinds a little. “No, thanks,” I would reply. “I like the view.” Usually that was met with a snort and a comment about my “at least having kept a sense of humor”. You see, the nurses could only see the construction zone for the new hospital wing from my window. I was looking beyond to the mountains.

“I will lift mine eyes unto the hills. From whence cometh my help? My help comes from the Lord, who made heaven and earth.” Those words were my source of strength during some frightening and painful hours. During my stay, those mountains were my spiritual anchor.

Mountains, while not exactly “timeless”, are certainly enduring. As we crossed the Big Horn Mountain Range, there was periodically a sign telling us the age of this section of rock or another. One section might be 37-40 billion years old while another is a mere 25 million. It served, to me, as a wonderful reminder of the enduring nature of God. Perhaps, mountains “call to me” as a reminder of God’s eternity. God was before the mountains, created the mountains and will endure long after these mountains crumble.

On Sunday morning, our family gathered in the lovely little chapel just down the hall from my room. Behind the altar was a picture window and the view was of another mountain range of Cody. During my stay, I had watched the sun rise and set on these mountains. On this morning, there was a mist of clouds hiding the top of the highest peaks. I was reminded, in this, of God’s comforting nature, surrounding us, enveloping us with His love and strength when we are weak and broken.

I had a lot of time for reflection and prayer last week. There were prayers of anguish in the midst of pain that echoed the psalmist: “Out of my depths I cry to you, O Lord. O Lord, hear my voice!” There were prayers of faith when we did not know what kind of bacterial infection we were up against, and the doctors feared the worst. There were also prayers of gratitude for nurses who blessed me—only one or two were “just doing their job”. Most of them were God’s own agents of comfort and healing. I can’t even remember all their names, but I have committed myself to praying for them.

· For Elizabeth who will go to Nambia in Africa this summer for her yearly medical mission trip. She had shared with me how powerful recent experiences in the Dominican Republic had been for her, and how much she looks forward to this chance to serve.

· For Kris who showed me such compassion when she found me crying over the menus I was supposed to fill out on my tray because I had thought I was going home that day, not planning my meals for the weekend! ("If I don't know when you're going home, I assure you the kitchen staff sure as hell doesn't!") She sometimes came down to just chat, even the night that I wasn’t her assigned patient.

· For Sue, the ICU nurse who fixed me a bowl of beef broth (incidentally the best thing I tasted while there) in her own coffee mug, and then gave it to me as a gift—probably knowing it was going to be my only souvenir of Cody!

There are blessings that I am claiming from this. The biggest is that I saw God all around me—the staff, the mountains and the unquestionable answer to prayers.

My doctor told me on his last visit that I had presented all the classic signs of someone who would have that flesh-eating bacterial infection. I was run-down. I am diabetic. I had a massive infection. “There’s no good reason why you didn’t have it”, he said. I just smiled. There is a very good reason, for it. You know it. I know it.

“I lift up my eyes to the hills— from where will my help come? My help comes from the Lord, who made heaven and earth. He will not let your foot be moved; he who keeps you will not slumber. He who keeps Israel will neither slumber nor sleep. The Lord is your keeper; the Lord is your shade at your right hand. The sun shall not strike you by day, nor the moon by night. The Lord will keep you from all evil; he will keep your life. The Lord will keep your going out and your coming in from this time on and forevermore." (Psalm 121)

My help comes from the Lord. Each of you has either faced, or will face that dark time in your life when you desperately search for a spiritual anchor. Whether it is this scripture verse or another… or even a hymn… cling to the words and the promise that will give you strength: Our God will keep our going out and coming in from this time on and forevermore. Thanks be to God!