It was a warm August day in 1996 — warm by British Colombia interior standards but still slightly brisk for a teenage girl from Missouri. All around the region, large and frolicking waterfalls abounded. What a lovely day to get out and see them. Or so it seemed.

My parents and I had made the multi-day drive up in Dad’s humble red Dodge pickup to visit our Canadian relatives: uncle, aunt, and cousins that I had only seen a few times over the years due to the great geographic distance between us. That day, part way into our visit, Uncle Lloyd offered to take the three of us on an invigorating nature tour. We drove around to a few locales with much more accessible approaches or viewing spots, cleanly cut bluffs or wooden decking and steps. But Uncle Lloyd saved a favorite spot for last.

When we stopped the car at that final location, I was immediately puzzled when I got out but could neither see nor hear any sign of rushing water.

“It’s up this way,” Uncle Lloyd called over his shoulder, taking his sturdy walking stick in hand and heading off on a gravel-strewn path, toward a thick grove of trees trailing down the mountain looming above. We followed him and walked on that path for many minutes, the way becoming progressively more winding.

As I kept my eyes fixed on the trail, I was surprised when the gravel covering evaporated and the way forward was apparently not well-established. It was harder to see as the tree coverage above became denser. Yet, Uncle Lloyd seemed to know right where he was going given how his steady pace didn’t miss a beat from the more refined surface to the utterly wild one.

He glanced back to check on us and paused fully when he saw I was not immediately continuing. “Tired already?” he asked with a small smile.

“No,” I said, a bit of shakiness in my voice. “I just didn’t know it was going to be like this.”

The further we climbed, the more fear-filled I became. The path was slick in places due to recent rain. There was nothing to hang onto for security apart from the occasional tree we passed that closely. By the time we reached the top of the ascent and stood in close-viewing distance of a scraggy, impish falls with brilliant, multiple tiers, my emotions were shot.

Uncle Lloyd turned with a big smile. “Was really worth the climb, eh?”

I burst into tears. And I found myself sobbing nearly uncontrollably for a moment. It was embarrassing and equally scary for me to have difficulty reigning in my feelings, when I’d been encouraged for so long not to display negative emotions so openly in the first place.

“What’s wrong?” my uncle asked, his brow now furrowed, with deep concern in his voice. He stepped closer and turned back and forth between me and the view, seeming genuinely puzzled over how all that rugged beauty could draw out such terror and discomfort in me.

When I could finally speak coherently, I tried to excuse my childish display. “All the way up here, I was just thinking about not falling on the path,” I mumbled in a raspy voice, “and thinking about how hard the way back down will be.” Only two summers previously, I had severely sprained my ankle and was still gun-shy of being too adventurous lest I should repeat my clumsy misstep and go through all that again.

Once more his gaze swept back and forth between the falls and my tear-drenched face. He reached out to touch my shoulder. “It’s okay. Let’s stay here and rest for a few moments and enjoy the view. We’ll be careful going down. You can hold onto me if you need to in the tricky patches.”

I took a deep ragged breath and swiped the back of my hand across each cheek in turn. The waterfall really was magnificent. I tried to focus on it and breathe deeply, to calm my heart and agree that all this had been worth it. No matter how awful it felt to be pulled right out of my comfort zone.

I didn’t know my uncle very well. In that moment, I didn’t understand that he wasn’t scowling at me in disapproval or anger. But later, as I came to know him more, I would understand that his heart felt my anxiety in those moments. He wanted to put me at ease to some degree. But he also wanted me to lay down my fears and be free to enjoy the beauty in the world. So much beauty in the world that he could see. He was eager for me to learn this lesson in trust.

True to his word, when it was time to descend, he kept a reasonable pace, slowing down in places where it was prudent to do so. More than once, he anchored himself with his walking stick and made sure I and my folks all made it over a challenging spot. By the time we reached the bottom, my legs were shaking from the physical demands of the descent. But my emotions were restored to a peaceful state, and my confidence was quietly lifted.

Uncle Lloyd knew the way up and the way down. He knew where he was going. He knew what awaited him — and us. And he was eager to take us and show us. He was confident and sure in a powerfully humble way.

We finished out our visit. We drove back to Missouri. I went to college and off to teach in a foreign land. I came back to attend grad school and later to work Stateside. And I joined social media platforms. Through the Facebook connection, I got to know my uncle again. And better.

Here was a man who gave his whole life to loving his family and ministering to others for God’s glory in several different roles and capacities. Here was a man who approached things and people with both wisdom and kindness while never neglecting what he knew to be truth. Here was a man who, though human, did his best by God’s grace to live an upright life.

By that same social media platform, the Canadian family communicated with us as Uncle Lloyd recently became increasingly sick. Then went to the hospital, then was moved to hospice care and quickly faded. Finally, on March 16th, he flew away to the arms of Jesus.

Where he’d always known he was headed.

There is a nearly indescribable blessing in seeing the beauty of a wild waterfall, completely untamed, while one drinks in the thin mountain air like a dehydrated person. There is an even greater blessing, however, in knowing the way out and the way home. In knowing where I will end up one day. For good.

It is a sweet thing to trust Jesus. To hold on to Him in the rough spots. And to follow Him both there and back again.

Uncle Lloyd taught me that. One summer’s day. And by the span of his whole life.

Rest in peace. I will see you again, Uncle. I am blessed to know it.