I know the exact spot in the road where you can catch the first glimpse of them. On a clear day as you cross the bridge heading out of Los Animas, CO the tops of the Spanish Peaks may wink at you, teasing you to step on the gas and come play at their house.
Clouds scattered hither and yon as I scooted up in my seat-just in case. Cliff was getting a kick at me because I was acting like a four-year old on her way to the circus. I had chattered non-stop from Lamar to this point in the road about how my Great Grandma Myrtle Mae Moore had watched for those mountains such as I was and how her eyes never left the back car window with tears streaming as she left them much like I probably would in a few days. The man needed warned for goodness sakes. I blame it on genetics.
No mountains appeared, but they would. Right before we got to La Junta, I saw them. Cliff, with an amused twinkle in his eye, countered with “oh those are just clouds you’re seeing.”
“No! Don’t you see them? MY mountains are right there.”
“Ah, those are just clouds.” He then pointed to the northwest. “those are the mountains you are looking for.” Here were the outlines of purple bumpy triangles. “All I’m seeing to the south are clouds”.
“No, those (pointing to the north) are not my mountains. You are just blind if you can’t see those. (emphatically pointing to the southern skyline.) Trust me. I know my mountains.”
He was chuckling and I was giggling. He gave me fits about ‘your mountains’ quite bit, which reminded me a lot of my Grandpa Moore when he would try to get Grandma’s dander up. I’m sure they had this exact conversation as they headed this way on their honeymoon way back when.
After we got to the cabin, I was leafing through all the tourist info left on the coffee table. “Aha!” I exclaimed. “It says right here that the Indians believed that the Spanish Peaks are the place that clouds were birthed, therefore resting my case that we were seeing them in labor on our way here!” Cliff just smiled and shook his head. I had won! I didn’t care if I was using Indian folklore to nail it down. I had won! Aha!
I hate to admit I have done that with scripture as well. Occasionally, I have tried to prove my point by digging for scripture to back up my case. I really didn’t care about the context or used different versions to find one that said what I wanted it to prove. Can you relate? There looms a danger of being so focused on being right that I have used it wrongly for my selfish purposes. Our hearts set on winning are not open to the truth God is giving. It’s as simple as that.
(By the way, the mountains aren’t really mine. Psalm 121 is the truth that clears that up in a hurry. It’s our little secret. Just don’t tell Cliff.)