We just spent a fun weekend in St. George with our good friends Bret and Paula, and according to Melanie ... I HAVE to blog about it. She's kinda bossy, and she's pregnant, so I'm going to just do as I'm told and not ask a bunch of silly questions.
At this point, Dave graciously offered me an "out." Once he saw what we were about to do, he figured he better quit pushing and leave it up to me if I wanted to go on or not. Now I was SCARED to death, but I'm not an idiot either. If I didn't finish this hike (or let him at least finish), I was NEVER going to hear the end of it ... not for the rest of ETERNITY. He promised we'd go slow and he'd stay right behind me. He promised not to goof around or get close to the edge ... blah, blah, blah. I made him promise two more things before I'd go on ... that he'd NEVER ask me to go on this hike again and that he'd NEVER even consider taking any of my children on it. Off we went.
And what do I get from this experience you ask? Well a few significant things. First, Dave is never allowed to ask me to go on this hike again. I can assure you I will never do it again. Had I known it was like that, I never would have done it. I way overestimated my adventurousness (?). Second, of course I'm proud of myself for accomplishing something I never thought I could do. You know, "You can do hard things" and all that. And last but not least I have a lifetime worth of
object lesson/spiritual thought/talk/lesson/devotional material about holding onto the Iron Rod and staying as far away from the edge as possible. And that you might say was worth it.