My family and I recently returned from a much-needed getaway to the Pacific Northwest – where the skies are bigger, the air is cooler, and the pace of life seems to be reflected in the slow-moving waters of a tranquil bay, or a forested lake. And since both abound up in that part of the country, we opted for a little of each:

A little forest time, a little bay time, lots of ferry rides, and tons of unplugging.

The highlight of our trip, however, was an adventure course that my wife hunted down in her research before our trip. I knew it was a ropes course nestled in the forest, but I didn’t anticipate the fear-induced adrenaline rush that the course brought with the admission price.

And that started as we pulled into the parking lot.

 

Now – a quick note about me: I’m in my mid-forties. My three boys are 14, 12, and 10. At this point in my life, I really don’t feel like I have anything left to prove to anyone, and yet I somehow got goaded (by my 14-year old, of course) into going not just on the Beginner, nor the Intermediate, nor even the Advanced, but on the Extreme Course with him.

I would have been fine on either of the first two courses, but I really didn’t feel the need to put my sore back, tired limbs, and old soul through the travails of the Advanced, let alone the Extreme course.

I agreed to do the Extreme for two reasons: I was curious to see how my physiology would respond to very difficult obstacles 50 feet off the ground, and I also wanted to enjoy a unique experience with my teenage son.

One of the thrills of climbing a wooden peg ladder with each successive level, ultimately up to five stories in the air is that you have plenty of time to ponder just how high you are. And let me tell you – 50 feet is REALLY high.

Here’s what I noticed as I progressed through the course:

Our harness was on what they call a “continuous system”, meaning that once you started a level, you were committed to finish it. The only way out was through.

Falling wasn’t so much of a concern, thanks to the safety of the harness, but once you fall, then what? Do you dangle helplessly until the earth shifts on its axis? Do you start singing high-pitched songs about cagebrids? Do you try to inch yourself along the safety line until you can find some way back onto the course?

I was determined not to find out.

Which meant that once I committed to one hellish set of obstacles, I had no choice but to maneuver through them. All of them.

After the Beginner’s Course I could opt out, but not until all of the obstacles in that course were complete. The same was true of each level – except that each successive level was higher in the air, and the obstacles were exponentially more difficult.

Every time I would complete a level, I would feel the thrill of accomplishment – that unmistakable emotional relief that comes with getting through something really difficult and making it through to the other side.

But as I would clip in to the next pain commitment, my rationale would take over with each step up the ladder as the next level got closer, and the safety of the ground further.

Every time, I would ask myself why? Why was I proceeding further? What was there to gain in putting myself through yet another series of near-impossible obstacles?

I’ll admit that the Extreme level was not particularly fun. The logs I was required to navigate would often swing wildly under my feet as I clung on to the accompanying ropes looking for a strategic next step.

My arms were sore, my grip nearly gone, I nearly lost my glasses (and therefore my depth-perception) multiple times, and my shirt was soaked through in sweat.

As I made my way through the final zip lines down to the end of the course, the why presented itself:

 

The only way out is through.

 

If you’re finding yourself presented with obstacles and barriers that seem impassable, this ropes course is for you.

I don’t know what you might be going through right now, but I imagine you feel tired. I imagine your equilibrium is off, and you may have knocked your glasses near off your face as you have scampered from one difficult situation to the next.

I imagine you may be aware of a safety line, but wouldn’t know what to do if you lost your footing and found yourself dangling.

And so you press on, wearily, with tired hands and shaky limbs, afraid to look up, knowing better than to look down.

If this is you, please know this:

Allow yourself to acknowledge the challenges you face. The difficulty of your journey is real, and it’s gonna take considerable effort, strength, and resolve to make it through.

But make it you can – and you will – if you consider a few things:

My son, the one who’s in way better shape than me, went ahead of me. And he went way faster than I could. And while he was tired at the end, I’m pretty sure I felt the fatigue more profoundly.

I let him go at his pace, and I kept at mine.

I knew the safety line was there to catch me if I fell. That allowed me to keep my eyes on the logs in front of me without worrying about the distance between them and the ground.

 Although completely alone on the journey through the obstacles, I allowed myself to hear the encouragement offered from my younger sons from down below. There was no way for them to know what I was going through, but I knew they were rooting for me. And that was enough.

If you find yourself in a season like this, may you go at your own pace, may you rely on the peace of knowing that a slip of your footing won’t be as bad as you fear.

And may you find encouragement from those rooting for you.

 

Because the only way out…

Is through.