Colorado Springs, circa 1970

Lightning flashes across the night sky of our Rocky Mountain hideaway. It is quickly followed by a boom of thunder that rattles the wafer thin windows of the old barn in Glen Eyrie where I am staying at a girl's summer camp. Rain pounds overhead on the tin roof and we can barely hear each other talk above the roar. A branch cracks outside followed by a thump as it hits the ground. The lights in the barn immediately go out. Terrified teen girls shriek, as only they can; piercing all the way through to my soul making my teeth itch. In between heaven's predictable contractions, the girls race to the safety of their cabin rooms and quickly bury themselves in their sleeping bags.

Being in the mountains during a thunderstorm has a beautiful terror all its own. Everything feels closer, more powerful, and more threatening. Even God feels that way.

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Denver, August 2009

My husband, Bob, and I have returned to Colorado for our granddaughter, Kensington's, first birthday. We have lots of plans for shopping, eating out, and a party; and everyone else wants to go on a hike while we are here. People say, "There's just nothing like experiencing The Rockies on foot." Yeah, well, on foot is great in a mall where there are no snakes, but I've lived here before. The entire state is teeming with rattlers, and not the kind you get at Babies R Us.

I hate snakes - any kind, all kinds. I also hate flying, but I didn't let that keep me from coming to visit my family; so I'm not going to let my fear of rattlesnakes keep me from a fun hike through some incredibly beautiful country. I am not going to be more of a baby than Kensington, but now that I think of it; she gets to ride high on Bryan's back in a super-deluxe backpack with her feet six feet off the ground. She doesn't even have to worry about the snakes.

I wonder if Bob would carry me on his back.

People are often fearful. Google the word, phobia, and up comes a list several pages long. Hollywood understands that we are fearful. In fact, it makes millions of dollars by using our fears to construct cinematic thrillers. Disaster movies tap into our deep-seated fear of earthquakes, tornadoes, fires, floods and airplane crashes. The epitome of Hollywood's exploitation came in 2006 when they combined two phobias into one movie: Snakes on a Plane. I never saw the movie, nor would I. I'm afraid of both.

The good thing, though, is that I am not alone in my fear of snakes. My daughter-in-law, Jodie, also shares my fear so I at least have company while we hike in the Colorado hills together. While Bryan and our second son, Philip, take the lead, Jodie and I hike in the middle with Bob following behind us. The first quarter-mile Jodie tells me about all the snake encounters she's had. Talking helps her cope, so while she shares, I scan back and forth across the trail in a never-ending vigil to stay alert.

Letting my mind wander helps me cope, and the story that comes immediately to mind is of Jesus and his disciples in the middle of the Sea of Galilee after a long day of teaching. It was nighttime and Jesus wanted to cross over Galilee to minister to other people. Mark, chapter four, records the story that started quietly enough, but ends with the disciples taking on an angry Sea of Galilee. Jesus' disciples knew fear. The wind was so bad that night that the waves began breaking over the sides of the boat, filling it with water. The disciples knew the rhythms of the sea and how to navigate through storms, but this one overpowered them.

Before long, Bryan comes to a fork in the road. One trail leads to a dam with more beautiful scenery; and the other loops back to the parking lot where we entered. Silently, I root for the parking lot option, but want to remain a good sport. I watch as Bryan, an experienced outdoorsman, stands still. He wants to take us to the dam, but needs a moment of evaluation. With his baby on his back and his wife and family members depending on his leadership, Bryan stops. He listens. He watches. He waits. Bryan looks to what he can see of the western sky where there are a couple of innocuous high clouds, but nothing ominous. I am sure we are going on to the dam which means another hour of snake patrol for me.

"I don't like it," he says. "Unpredictable."

Huh? It is calm and beautiful...not to mention eighty-five degrees out here. Conditions don't get much better than this for an afternoon hike in Colorado.

"Let's go. We need to get out of here," Bryan directs before taking off for the parking lot at a double-time pace.

We all follow obediently, but I doubt any of us, besides Jodie who has hiked with Bryan before, believes we are in danger. Jodie stays right on Bryan's heels. Philip and I are soon distracted taking pictures of God's wonder passing before us, and silly pictures of ourselves conquering rocks that are no more than three feet high. Bob meanders at the back of the line.

Suddenly, Bryan barks at us to stop the photography and get moving.

"Time to run for it," he says. "We need to get to the car."

Copyright © Donna A. Tallman, 2009. Please contact author at delsie2002@yahoo.com for permission to reprint.