Three years ago, on the top of a mountain, the voice of a waterfall opened the eyes of my heart. During one of the most amazing journeys of my life, I spent six days strapped into a forty-pound backpack hiking and climbing with eleven other girls and two guides. Six days of hiking led me through forests with alder trees that snagged at my clothes, across slippery logs serving as bridges over rivers and waterfalls, alongside meadows of heather and wildflowers and over boulder fields hugging the sides of cliffs. Six days of hiking gifted me with panoramic mountain views, sunsets more glorious than any seen from sea level and nights spent drifting in and out of sleep underneath the glow of the full moon. The nature around Mount Pearkes, our mountain home, radiated with beauty. It filled our sights with snowy peaks and glimmering ocean water. Needless to say, this trip was incredible.
Throughout the week we delighted in the gift of clear skies and radiant sunlight. Emboldened by the sunshine, we gladly embraced every moment, from the pains of steep inclines and huckleberry brambles, to the breathtaking image of the sun setting to its rest beyond the mountain range. We laughed, we cried, we sang, we shared stories. We lived in love and light and life, disconnected from the chaos of reality and time for six short, sweet days.
One of my favorite places along the trail was a glacial lake called Kumqua Lake. It stretched about the length of a football field and was filled with the purest green-blue water. The backside of the mountain framed the far end of the lake, and the trailside was blanketed by soft grass and heather. Chunks of ice from Mount Pearkes’ glacier crashed into Kumqua lake, and a waterfall cascaded down the rocks softly and steadily, flowing into its clear, turquoise pool. My group and I ate lunch and prayed by this lake, dove into its icy waters and camped on its banks amidst the flowers.
One day, as we sat by Kumqua Lake in the stillness of morning, the sunlight slowly walking its way across the water, one of my guides, Kirsten, told my friends and me to pause in silence and listen for the sound of water, saying no matter where we stood on Mount Pearkes we would always be able to hear it. This water, she said, was like the voice of God: though sometimes as loud as the roar of a waterfall and other times only a whisper like a distant creek, it always ran and always surrounded us. All we needed to do was quiet ourselves and listen.
As the rising sun continued to illuminate Kumqua Lake, Kirsten then gazed gently into each of our eyes. She asked us to each choose three words to describe the nature around us. Slowly, deliberately, we shared our words: Serene. Majestic. Captivating. Beautiful. Wholesome. Marvelous. After we had savored these for a moment, Kirsten spoke a sentence that forever will be written on my heart: “Since God created these mountains and trees and lakes like this, and you are his creation too, you are also majestic and beautiful and captivating.”
Her words hit a spot in my heart that nearly took my breath away. The summer of this backpacking trip was the fourth summer I had battled an eating disorder that had devoured my self-worth while I, on the other hand, had hardly consumed anything. By that point in my recovery journey, I had found some healing through my friends, family and therapy. But though I had mostly restored my weight and my ability to eat without guilt, it felt like there was a hole in my heart, and I couldn’t quite put into words what could fill it up. My low self-esteem and high self-criticism prevented me from finding my value. I hadn’t yet been able to look at myself in a mirror and see goodness. I couldn’t find many worthy things in me and because of this didn’t think I was valued by others or deserving of their love. That hole remained open, and I remained not fully healed.
But there, 6000 feet above the sea, Kirsten told me I was an image of beauty, a work of art as carefully crafted by God as the mountains surrounding me. In that moment, sitting quietly alongside the glimmering lake, the tenderness of her words settled into that wound in my heart. I was perfected in and through God’s love for me. I did nothing to deserve this. Simply by being his creation he showered me with love, softly and steadily, like the ever-flowing waterfall dancing down the mountain.
A feeling of warmth and peace like that of the sunshine on the water filled me up from the inside. Looking over Kumqua Lake, I saw the waterfall still running softly down. But this time, I heard the waterfall too. I heard it bubble with a reassuring voice, pure and light and strong, like I’d imagine the voice of God. I heard it say to me, “Yes. I made you, and I love you. You are my creation and you can be healed, made whole, renewed, because you are perfect in my eyes. Believe in this.”
Recovery from my eating disorder was not an instantaneous process, and this was not the final step of my journey. But no longer did I sit, feeling empty and unworthy, at the foothills of a mountain I needed to overcome to find healing. I was climbing now, higher and higher, nearly able to see this mountain’s peak. These words I heard in the voice of the water began to fill the hole in my heart, not completely, for that would come with time and patience. But until then these words gave me just enough strength to help me take the final steps I needed to get to the wholeness at that summit. They gave me radiant sunshine to delight in as I kept hiking the trail to fullness. They gave me the ability to see myself as God sees me: strong, grace-filled, beautiful and as majestic as the mountains.
