Sometimes I almost feel guilty for having a love affair with a mountain--the one who is the star of THIS STORY I wrote in 1992. I had to drive out to see it today--55 years later since I first sat in its shadow as I worshiped with my mom and dad, now deceased.
The picture below shows how it looks not in silhouette. The picture I took a few months ago coming in to town from the north was a natural silhouette and quite the fluke. We were flying along at 65mph when I turned and saw the mountain and could barely get my camera turned on and the picture snapped before we were across the bridge. I couldn't believe it turned out as well as it did and with the wrong lens on at that. This one is not quite as romantic--and from a different view, no water in the foreground here. But it is still my beloved. I gain strength from the things this mountain stands for.
Ps 121:1-2
I lift up my eyes to the hills —
where does my help come from?
2 My help comes from the LORD,
the Maker of heaven and earth.
NIV
The all-day fellowship meetings at the foot of this mountain--the dinners-on-the-ground, the precious saints who came before. This mountain symbolizes everything precious to me, especially my best friend, Jackie, who died when she was 16, and is buried in its shade.
Life is strange--the mountain remains in all its splendor--nothing changed--the man who encouraged me to the top--gone. For the first 10 or 15 years after our family moved to Tulsa, Oklahoma in the early 70's, when we came home to Arkansas I always made the trip out to Pinnacle Mountain. I guess it has always reminded me of the solid rock, the great rock--the true lover of my soul--Jesus.
Dianne
