The beam of my headlamp illuminates my white fingers struggling to tie my boots and adjust my crampons. There’s a serene stillness with an occasional gust of wind reminding me that it’s 15 degrees at our Lake Helen camp at 10,500 feet, half-way up Mt. Shasta. I begin my 4000 foot climb at 3:00 a.m. The moon casts dark shadows on the otherwise glistening frozen snow, the silence broken only by the crunching from my heavy boots. The stars shine coldly as a battle commences: me versus the ominous summit of Shasta.

Three months ago, my dad and his friends determined to mark the transition of their sons from boys into young men through four events which included seeing a play adaption of The Screwtape Letters, climbing Mt. Ralston in South Lake Tahoe, and climbing Mt. Shasta. Our final event is currently being planned. The most daunting event thus far has been climbing Mt. Shasta.

Trudging up Shasta proved to be a tedious and repetitive process. As leader of the line, I would take 100 steps, then we’d rest - relishing every second of idleness, and then, all too soon, the next climber would assume the lead taking 100 steps and I would fall to the back on the line. The climb was difficult and breathtaking but I kept reminding myself that with each ascending step, the summit was that much closer.

The top of that mountain proved anti-climactic. I wanted to take a nap, but the wind was howling. I wanted to eat, but I was nauseous from the altitude. I let out an immense roar announcing to the world my triumph but it left me spent. It wasn't until we were glissading down the mountain that I realized what I had just accomplished. The morale within the group rose to an indescribable high: everyone stood a little straighter, everyone's eyes shone a little brighter, and our energy surprisingly peaked considering we had hardly slept in the past two days.

Later after we had come off the mountain, we went to dinner at an Italian restaurant, Girondas, to celebrate. At the dinner table, we congratulated each other recognizing individual accomplishments on the climb. Walking out of the restaurant into the mild weather, I looked up to the looming peak of Mt. Shasta and thought to myself, “I’ve done it.” It was a thrilling emotion. Climbing that mountain with my dad bound us through the experience of shared struggle, on a path emblematic of our faith. Along the way I learned the attributes of a man of God and how to obtain them. It’s a gift from my dad that I can repay only by sharing it. I hope and pray that I can walk through life with my son or daughter and see how, with God’s help, they too can become a man or woman of Christ.