Grace is hard to take.

This weekend I went to the Grand Canyon with my housemate Jessica and her friend Kimberly from Virginia. Our plan was to hike to the bottom, camp, and hike out the next day. However, when we arrived we found that there was no chance of having a campsite at the bottom; the only way to get down there was to hike in and out in the same day. We figured we could do it – we were well-prepared and all in decent shape.

The hike was beautiful. The canyon changes shape quite a bit each 1000 feet you descend, and everything is bright green because it's spring. At 7:00 in the morning, the temperature was about 40 degrees. It quickly climbed from there to the 70s or 80s by the middle of the day. The sun was screened behind a few misty clouds so we didn't fry. I got some great pictures! We were so excited to reach the bottom of the canyon. There were two huge suspension bridges, one for the South Kaibab trail and the other for the Bright Angel trail. The Colorado River was impressive and very muddy, and just a bit further up the trail we found the Little Colorado coming through clear as could be. Everything was green and peaceful and sunny.

I took a bit too long at the bottom because I really wanted to stick my feet in the river, partly because they were hot and sore but mostly just to say I did. :-) We were all a bit stressed about making it out of the canyon before dark. The Bright Angel trail had a water stop halfway up, which I thought wouldn't take too long to reach. The bottom of the canyon to Indian Gardens, though, was the hottest, hardest part of the trail. The sun was beating down, my pack felt heavier and heavier, and I walked slower and slower. By the time we reached Indian Gardens, I was tired and sore. And there were still 4.5 miles to go.

After drinking two quarts of liquid and trying to eat a few calories too, with muscles no longer trembling we started off on the final ascent. The beginning was pretty gradual, not too bad but still very hot and sunny. Then we started the switchbacks – interminable switchbacks. We just climbed those switchbacks for three hours. We tried everything from eating along the way, to counting steps, to making short-term goals. Finally, Jessica and I resorted to leap-frogging: I would stop in the middle of the trail and lean over to rest. She would catch up to me and go on as far down the trail as she could make it before she needed a rest. Then when I caught my breath, I would pass her and keep going as far as I could before I had to stop again. People passed us, mostly going up but a few going down too. A tall middle-aged couple went down, smiling cheerily at us tired climbers.

Finally I sat on a log by the side of the trail to rest a little longer. Jess caught up and sat too. We felt exhausted – knew it couldn't be too much farther to the top, but didn't know how we would make it. The tall middle-aged couple came bouncing back up the path and stopped.

“Do you need any food? Water?” they asked.

“No, we've got enough of that, thanks,” we replied.

“Is there any other way we could help?” Other than a ski lift, I couldn't think of any solution to my current problem. But Jessica was braver than I.

“You could carry our packs,” she suggested jokingly.

The couple looked at each other. “We could do that,” they said. In disbelief, I watched as the woman, whose name I later found out was Carla, took off her hiking rucksack and reached for my pack. My pride kicked in for a second and I came so close to saying, “No, that's okay – I'm almost there and I'll be fine.” I wanted to make it to the top on my own steam so I could have boasting rights. But then I realized that I was being offered a gift. I gave her my pack, her husband took Jessica's, and we began hiking again. The weight off my back was great, but nothing was so wonderful as the fact that a pair of strangers were willing to carry my burden for me – willingly. Not only that, they were interested in getting to know me too. Tears stung my eyes as I lightly walked behind them.

It couldn't help but remind me of another man who carried a burden I couldn't lift anymore. I'm not good at asking for help so I feel like the scenario has to be replayed often for me.

Jesus: “Can I help you with that?”

Me: “No, I'm okay, thanks.” A couple miles further down the road, when my knees are buckling and I can't move another step: “Um, did you really mean what you said back there? You can take it now.” And again I have the feeling of walking lightly down the road behind the guy who did everything for me, who gives everything to me.

All I have to do is accept it.

But I don't have boasting rights anymore.

Grace is hard to take. But so good!