It takes true grit to devote ourselves to the task of motherhood. It is a journey that requires the endurance which comes from hope and faith.

In October, my family went to Cloudland Canyon State Park in Georgia. It’s a beautiful place, the largest gorge in the southeast. We were there for a family reunion with all my husband Adam’s siblings: eight adults, 28 children. One of the highlights of visiting there is hiking to the bottom of the canyon to see the waterfalls.

As we set out on this adventure, I had Esther on my back; the other younger ones were assisted by the various adults and six teenagers in the group. We couldn’t have done it without our teenagers--I myself couldn’t have--they were my secret weapon. We arrived at the bottom of the gorge with relative ease. The waterfall was awesome, the kids enjoyed running around, the parents took pictures, and we all relaxed for a while. Then it was time for the trip back up. The key word here is "up."

Earlier that morning I’d noticed a sign at the head of the trail that warned the naïve amateur hiker (that would be me) that this was a strenuous and challenging hike. It wasn’t lying.

Walking the trail uphill--climbing the steps built into the canyon walls, maybe ten at a time-- wasn’t so bad, I thought. Even so, I was getting tired and weak in the knees, and the nine-month-old on my back had turned from a bag of feathers into a block of lead. It was then that we hit the granddaddy staircase of them all. We affectionately nicknamed it "Heart Attack Hill."

Looking up at this steep staircase of well over a hundred steps, I thought to myself, "NO WAY. It’s a good thing I know the Lord, because I think I might be seeing Him today." I saw Adam up ahead. He was taking it one step at a time, slowly, head down, focused. He had our thirty-pound two-year-old on his back, enjoying the ride. He seemed like a superhero to me at that moment.

OK, I thought, Adam’s making it, I can make it. I asked him later how he did it with Emma on his back, and he said it was a lot like childbirth: breathe deep, focus on one moment at a time…

But if there had been an escape route at that moment, say an elevator, I would have had to make the decision whether to cut and run. But there really was no choice. Adam and the children were counting on me; if I were to bail out I’d discourage the whole team. Sometimes as moms we’re going to wonder if we can we go on. We might be tempted to bail out, but our families are counting on us--we can’t give up.

So, I was committed. As I prepared to take the first step a little hand grabbed mine. "Mommy, will you carry my rock?" I looked down at my four-year-old, holding a rock the size of a softball. She was getting ready to go up the steps with the help of her 17-year-old cousin, and she needed me to carry her rock. I looked into that sweet, trusting face and said, "Sure."

I, the baby and the rock started our climb. Oh, boy, my knees hurt. I looked down at the steps--if I tried to look at what was coming next I’d be overwhelmed. I was going slow and easy. I didn’t care who was passing me, who was in front or behind me, who was faster or slower. I was focused only on the next step. When I got winded, I stopped to rest, right there on the steps. Forget pride. This was survival. I didn’t ask myself if I was going to make it. I just took the next step, holding on to the handrail for dear life.

I was reminded of a cardiac stress test I took a few years ago. Anyone who’s ever had one knows what fun they are. They put you on a treadmill, and you walk, then walk fast, then jog, then run, then run uphill. At the beginning of my stress test I was cocky, walking easily with my hands at my sides, and the technician smiled at me and said, "Keep your hands on the bar--keep them there the whole time." Ha, I thought, is that really necessary? Within minutes, as I gripped the bar, panting and trying to keep from collapsing and being thrown off that infernal machine, I had to laugh. The doctor glanced over and said, "Just a couple more minutes--hang in there." That’s about all I could do--hang in there. But I made it.

Back to Heart Attack Hill. I was nearing the top, every step pain and a test of will. Then I was there. I saw Adam sitting a few steps away, smiling and waiting for me. I staggered over to sit next to him. Victory is sweet. I didn’t care that it wasn’t elegant – I was there, that’s all that mattered. As I rested, trying to calm my racing heart, I saw a wondrous sight.

Over the top of the steps appeared the laughing face of my sister-in-law, Suzannah, and a moment later, her 15-year-old, Jonah. He had CARRIED her up Heart Attack Hill. He stood there, proud and just a little winded. I immediately thought, where’s Michael? (My son.) He is 9, and skinny. I determined to put him on a high-protein diet and an exercise program. Then this thought flashed into my mind: Even youths grow tired and weary, and young men stumble and fall; but those that wait upon the Lord shall renew their strength – they shall rise up on wings like eagles, they shall run and not be weary, they shall walk and not faint.

I know that one day I’ll come to the end of this hike called Motherhood. I’m going to make it, not by my strength, but by His strength. I’m holding on to the bar - my Lord, Jesus Christ. All I have to do is stay on the trail, pace myself, forget pride and expectations, rest when I need to, focus on one step at a time, BELIEVE and KEEP ON BELIEVING.