Snow

All my life, I have lived with snow. Growing up in Canada, I think snow fell in 10 out of 12 months at least once and you could always look out to see it on the mountains. As a Legionary, I have lived in the States nine years, but in places like Connecticut, Detroit and Cleveland (where life went on as normal with 10 inches in one day). This year in Rome has been my first year without snow, at least until last Saturday.

To celebrate the end of exams, we spent a day in the country. Most of the brothers wanted to play volleyball and soccer at a park, but about 50 us decided to go another 15 minutes in the bus to hike up a mountain. In the States, mountain hiking means following a well-kept trail to the top. At least in this part of Italy, the mountain only had one logging trail along the side about two-thirds the way up. We followed it around a little, then one brother who had been there before pointed up into the trees; we took a sharp right turn; and began a straight ascent of the north face. Along the trail there were patches of the white stuff here and there but as we got near the top the ground was covered with several inches to a foot of snow. The snow was of a crunchy composition like it had half thawed and refrozen, and the mountain was steep, so the ascent was difficult.

Trudging straight uphill through this stuff, I had to stop and give my legs a rest a few times. Near the end, I was about to stop one more time to rest when I saw the clear sky straight ahead and the voices of the few who beat me to the top, so I put in an extra effort. Minutes later I could enjoy the view from the summit: breathtaking. Our spiritual life is often like this: as we get higher, the climb gets more difficult, sometimes we even have to catch our breath or give our legs a rest, but the summit is always there, even if we don’t see it. Sometimes you have a path, and sometimes you have to trudge straight up hill through the snow.