10/08/2026
It's day 66 on the North side of Everest. My third expedition. Two attempts, zero summits. The pressure is mounting.
We're sitting at Advance Base Camp at 21,000 ft, the same place I met the Lord back in 1996. It's been a gruelling season with terrible weather. Conflicting reports have led to doubt and second-guessing. We watched teams set out in bad weather and pay the ultimate price. We're almost out of time and I'm in the worst shape of my life. Plagued by a crippling cough, I'm on another course of antibiotics.
I'm in a dark place. A tiny crack in my resolve is letting the acceptance of failure sneak in. I want to fail. Because it means an easy way out. Escape from the doubt and a ticket home. It's just not possible, I tell myself. It's not meant to be.
But something keeps me looking up. Staring up at the swirling cloud. The summit is so far away it may as well be on another planet. Then the Lord reminds me. Hey. Who brought you here? Who made this mountain? Who called you to high places? Well, I'm calling you again. This journey doesn't end on the summit. It starts there.
I collapse on my knees in tears, take out my journal and scribble the attached poem.
Four days later, on day 70, the wind finally stops and we climb the last few steps to the top of the world.