The one where I talk about Timp and then Pioneers and eventually get to the point

I once hiked Timpanogus.
That's shorthand vernacular for "I once climbed the not that difficult but certainly steep side of Timpanogos that is not the side that gets you to the cave."
Yawn, yawn, yawn for all you Utah folk I know. I've since learned that most people in Utah climb Timpanogos abouts once a month or so, just to keep themselves regular.
I am a Timp Wimp.
For starters, I discovered in an instant that I possess an extremely severe case of Vertigo that reared its ugly newborn head as I inched shiveringly along a hellacious trick of torture inflicted upon Timp hikers by the sadistic Utah park service that you have to traverse to get to The Saddle.
Oh, what is The Saddle you ask?
WHAT is the SADDLE??!!!!
Let me just fill you in. Visually, this is the saddle. This totally awesome dude is going to show you with his camera what I inched along for an hour while trying not to plummet down that 10,000 sheer drop scree field while I gasped air in through my drastically narrowed throat while hysterically wheezing in a blinding panic attack. It was not my finest hour, coolness wise.

And as far as photographs go, here's a couple of them.

Now, THE SADDLE is flat and safe and nice and beautiful. Why would THE SADDLE be where I remember the worst of the terror? Why not that tightrope creep up along the Scree field?
Scree fields, by the way, are what the saying "the devil's playground" is orginally about.
Scree fields should die.
Well, after an hour of almost suffocating along that trail I reached THE SADDLE. I collapsed, relieved. My journey was over! No more of this silly height madness! Back to camp and a hamburgering we shall go!
Oh. Wait.
Every time I tried to get up (the saddle is not very wide. And being as it is literally A SADDLE between two peaks, the scree fields of hell dropped hundreds of feet on both sides) the aforementioned latent vertigo I mentioned (which has now become a permanent fixture of my psyche) would overcome me with dizziness and I'd have to sit back down. My uncles and mom and cousin patiently waited for me until, still dizzy, I just had to buck up. You see, it was not just a quick jaunt back to camp. It hit me like a wrecking ball that I had only just begun. I had a long long long way to go yet. Still pretty stunned, I had quite the emotional moment up there on Saddle Sue. I wasn't even to the top of the hike yet, even! I still had to reach the friggin PEAK. Watch the first 20 seconds of this video. You'll see what I mean.

And then after getting up THERE to that tiny little triangle shack (which I was informed I was not allowed to sit there and be rescued at either. This was a really bad place to discover I have a serious fear of heights.)
Oh you think the nightmare is over? Think again folks, think again.
After THE SADDLE, and the climb to the peak, I had to do EXACTLY AND I MEAN EXACTLY what these people in this next video did.  EXACTLY. I had to SURF DOWN (I mean that. I MEAN THAT! I had to stand up on my shaking legs and SURF down this scree field over the snow pack.)

The worst part was that halfway through surfing the stress and shock of the climb overcame me and my bladder mutinied. It was going to happen as sure as death and taxes. My emergency disaster plan consisted of yelling at my family to all stop surfing themselves so they could turn around and I could desperately unbuckle my overall shorts and kind of squat on a scree field where every rock seemed about to jump ship to the valley floor yonder and pee while still suffering the pretty severe aftereffects of my absurdly serious height meltdown.
Now with soaking legs, socks, shoes, and feet I continued along my way.
When we finally got to the meadow, where it was a quick dash down an easy 7 mile path back to those fantastical hamburgers I kept drooling over, my uncle had an idea. Exhausted, he did not want to go another 7 miles. He'd heard of an old trail the boy scouts used to use. It was a shortcut! Only three miles down. He knew exactly where it was. We just had to go straight off the regular path until we got to it. After I (in shorts and pee marinated legs, remember?) had trekked in agony for an interminable amount of time down through endless wild rose bushes (My legs were now doing their best to resemble a raw version of my fantasied dinner) I tentatively asked how much farther was this boyscout trail?
OH, ABOUT FOUR MORE MILES!!! HAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!
This is an inside family joke. On a hike, if you EVER ask how much further, everyone will yell Only Four More Miles!
Yes, after a panic attack, a soggy humiliation attack, 14 miles straight up and down and literally no end in sight, you can imagine how delighted I was to hear this joke again : )
And now, a poem.

To finally end this tale, 
we never found the trail.

We hiked an extra ten miles before we found our way back to the car in pitch black darkness.
You want more? Well, that night after I'd climbed into bed and drifted away into oblivion, my sister woke me up by shaking me violently and hissing that I'd stolen her bed and I was actually supposed to be sleeping on the floor. I should have punched her. Instead I dropped like a lead anchor to the wood next to the bed and fell asleep three seconds later.
So....why did I tell you this story? Let's start with this painting. A painting that will make my Timpy Wimpy day look like a trip to the Bahamas.

 This is a painting of The Willie Martin Handcart companies.
If you are LDS, then I need say nothing more. If not, click that link. A very very sacred part of our church history, these incredible saints walked to Zion through snow and storms while barefoot, sick, under dressed, unsheltered, and starving. I am fascinated by every detail. It all sends chills down my spine. In every historical account of these handcart companies, the question of "WHO WAS AT FAULT HERE" is raised. I do not believe anyone was truly "at fault." I believe this was Heavenly Father's will. This was allowed to become a part of our history to prove the Mormon pioneers, to inspire us today, to make young girls who hike Timp grateful for her blessings.
This painting shows the sacrifices that were made while establishing this church on the Earth today. They froze and lost limbs and buried their children and husbands and parents. Many lost their own lives. And all did it with the powerful, sure conviction that they would do it again, that's how much they loved this gospel. My day at Timp was a walk in the park in comparison.
But I have my own trials. I may not ever come within a mile of the things these wondrous people endured, but I have my own hardships. They wondered over and over how they were going to make it through? I have many days where I wonder am I going to make it through. The reason I am writing this post in such a long and babbling rambling way is to express a thought I had earlier this week. It occurred to me why I, who to the world today might appear to be an ant of a saint next to these Goliaths of faith and courage and resilience, still can relate to them in one specific way.
I stay at home with four small children.Three are in school, one's still in diapers. One of the greatest blessings I've been given to go along with this life is the knowledge that if I take the time to get on my knees and pray every morning, my day goes so much better. It's not even a guess. The evidence of this is so staggeringly obvious that if I don't do it, I'm basically just admitting to being a glutton for punishment. But when I do pray, I'm calmer, I'm more happy, I get more done, I feel better, life is beautiful. Or at least bearable. Which brings me to my point.
I take a certain kind of medicine that has such severe side effects if you miss a pill that missing even one pill is AWFUL. To take my long long explanation down to one sentence, basically the worst effect is it gives me such crazy dreams that I wake up disoriented, foggy, and as exhausted as if I'd spent the entire night simultaneously running and weight training. It makes for a miserable day. A few weeks ago I got on my knees after such a night and couldn't even muster up the energy to make a mental ask Heavenly Father to help me with to do list. I just sat there horrified at the fact I had to get up and be a mom and do all kinds of mom and wifey things when I felt like The Hulk had whipped me around like Loki in The Avengers. In desperation I just asked Heavenly Father one thing. 
Please Heavenly Father, please help me get through this day. Please just help me keep going. 
And that was that. I lugged myself up, nailed a smile to my face, and dragged myself out the door to go do mom and wifey things. 
And I was exhausted, and I was foggy, and my head felt like two marbles were rolling around in it somewhere, but guess what. I kept going. I didn't have to stop. I did it all! Homework and scriptures and laundry and cleaning and dinner and dishes! I didn't lose it with my family, I felt Heavenly Father helping me, and my legs kept on moving. And I ended the day with as much accomplished and my spirit as comforted as if I'd just had the sunshinest day ever! 
At the end of that day I started thinking about the pioneers. How did they do it? How did they drag themselves up every day when the temperature was like, negative 50 and they had hardly any clothes and lots of them were barefoot and it was snowing and they had like, a tablespoon of flour for breakfast? How? 
I bet they got up every morning, knelt down, and said the exact same thing I did. 
Please Heavenly Father, please help me get through this day. Please just help me keep going. 
And when I decided to totally and completely WIG OUT on the mountain up there, through panic attack and vertigo and pee and what ended up being like over 18 hard miles and wild rose bushes, I am sure my family was praying the very same prayer. 
Please Heavenly Father, please help The Timp Wimp get through this day. Please just help this lunatic keep going.   
To this day I am amazed I did that hike. I know now how my family asked Heavenly Father to get me through it.
So today, my point is this. (First of all congratulations to the determined souls who have gotten this far)
Life gets freakin' hard sometimes. Up a mountain, through a storm, in the whirlwhind of a Tasmanian Devil Two year old whilst enduring crazy medicine agony, and the millions and millions of other trials we all go through, Big or small it does not matter to Heavenly Father. He loves each of us so much that He is there to help us get through everything, no matter WHAT it is.  He might not solve our problems right away, He might not take away the pain or the fatigue or the work and EVERYTHING that goes along with the journey. But there is one thing that He will never not do. And that is to help us just keep freaking going. 
Heavenly Father is the energizer bunny, times ten trillion. 
When you think you can't make it, ask. 
Often, even after we ask, It's still going to hurt, and stink, and be hard. The person you are fervently praying for might still pee their pants.You might have to sacrifice something precious to you, and live day by day through a difficult time in your life, but you've got to remember that if you ask Heavenly Father for help-
You're going to make it. Those feet of yours are going to keep on stepping. 
And that's all I've got to say about that. 
: )