Reading a few days ago of the death of Patrick Edlinger, a French sport climber (cause of death undisclosed in the obituary), I thought about the death, in 2009, of free climber John Bachar (falling while climbing, as he had always done, unroped on a rock face near his home in California), as well as the passing, in 1985, of mountaineer Gaston Rebuffat of breast cancer (unusual in a male, but does happen), and remembered, with poignant fondness, some of Rebuffat's (who wrote several books) words about existence.
     We should ever live as children, Rebuffat observed, to view the world with openness, eagerness, and joy for "there will always be something new."  So true.  Though our world may not be as big and grand as that of a high altitude climber or mountaineer, it is nonetheless our world, our place, our wonderland, our unique journey of potential and pleasure.  It will always be new.
     So did these men live, ever eager to go, ever eager to venture, ever eager to engage all that life held for them.  Life was always new.
     As it is for us, each day an adventure to unfold, a journey to take.  So often have I thought while standing atop a mountain summit, peaks and valleys opening before me, sun burning through the ultramarine sky:  life is unspeakably grand.
     Of course:  it's the work of a grand--and personal--God.