I love hiking the Grand Canyon. I've probably hiked the Grand Canyon about 14
or 15 times in the past two years. I just—there's something about it, you know
being in a natural wonder that just evokes these deep spiritual feelings and
it helps you reflect on what really matters in life. Well, my dad came down to
Arizona. He doesn't visit that often but he came to my house and and I thought:
"Well, this is a great opportunity! Dad, you can you can drop me off at the South Rim
and then drive all the way around to the North Rim and pick me up. That way, I can
hike from the South to the North and not have to worry about transportation of
cars and stuff. And you know, he thought this was a good idea. I thought this was
a good idea. It was a terrible idea because I've never done that before, you
know? It was an awful idea, but you know, like idiots we're like: "Yeah, let's go and
do this! This would be great! We'll bond, you know, and then I'll drop my son off
and he'll probably die... This is great! Let's do this, you know." So my Dad and I
go to the South Rim, we take our last known photos, and then I go down into the
canyon. And I tell him, I say, "I think it's only going to take about 12 hours."
Because, historically, that's what it's taken me to hike from one end of the
South Rim to another end of the South Rim—but it's a completely different
story to hike from the South Rim all the way over to the North Rim—which is a
thousand feet higher in elevation. So as I'm hiking, I think I'm—I'm so prepared. I
got this. I can do this on my own. I'm so strong. I'm so experienced and wise, right?
What I didn't account for was that the sun would be beating down on me for
about six or seven hours of the hike like, no shade. There was a whole stretch
of land where I didn't have any shade. Didn't have any sunscreen either because
I'm so smart I planned ahead. Well, I got to the to the base of the North Rim and
it was starting to get dark. And the base of the North Rim is really where the
challenge is supposed to begin and I'm thinking: "Okay. I was supposed to meet my
Dad in about thirty minutes... I don't think I can make this in 30 minutes. It's
probably going to be about another three to four
five hours to hike up the North Rim. But I start going because I know he's
waiting for me. And as I'm going up I can feel that I don't have any strength left—
it's—I'm not gonna last. The sun had taken all of the energy out of me and it
had it had caused me to sweat and soak all of my clothes. And if you know
anything about hiking you know that the one of the greatest dangers of hiking at
night is when your clothes get wet, the wind will pick up, and it has the—the
threat of giving you hypothermia because you're soaked the wind is hitting you
and you're unprepared—you don't have a change of clothes. Well, that's where I
was. I didn't have a change of clothes and I was frigid. I was freezing. I was
shaking. I couldn't feel my fingers. My lips were shaking. And at some point on
that hike, I began to feel like: "I can't do this anymore.
I—I don't have any more strength." And so, I kind of ducked behind a couple of
rocks to block myself from the wind and I remember saying a prayer. You know, one
of those: "Hey. I know we don't talk much but I could really use a favor right now.
Because I think I'm gonna die. Can you help me? And then my prayer started to get more
urgent. I didn't feel like I was going to
survive. And I remember the feeling I got if it could count as a feeling was: "Just
move forward a few more steps." I thought: "Well, okay. I don't know if you heard. I
just said I can't move forward. I don't have any more strength." But the feeling
again was move forward—as much as you can and so I moved forward. I probably
did two more switchbacks but I was out of that covering, right? I started moving
up switchbacks and I was beginning to feel like: "I have nothing left to give."
And that's when I heard someone say my name. And I thought: "Okay. I'm either
hallucinating. That's either a Park Ranger or that's the Angel of Death and
I really hope it's not a Park Ranger because I don't like small talk.
With the Angel of Death is just gonna be very direct, I'm okay with that. I just
don't want to do the small talk. And I listened to this voice—because I really
did think I was hallucinating at this point—and I listened to the voice.
I heard my name again. I could barely hear it on the wind and I listened I heard my
name again. It was my Dad. My Dad. 70 years old wearing loafers, and jeans, a sweater
vest—just for style—was hiking down the North Rim of the Grand Canyon—a hike he
had never done before. He even told me later, he said, "Yeah, it went in two
different directions. I didn't know which way I was going but I thought this one
looked good, so I went that way." I'm like, "Well, that's great! I'm just glad it didn't go
off a ledge, you know?" But here's this seventy-year-old man—my father—calling
for me. And I could hear—I can hear the worry in his voice. And something about
hearing his voice, knowing that someone who loved me was looking for me, that
gave me a strength I didn't know I had. And I started to go further and further.
I was trying to call out to him—it was really hoarse—I didn't have a lot of
water—it was really hoarse calling back to him. Well, come to find out, he
didn't even have his hearing aids in so it didn't even matter! Why was he calling
for me if he wasn't even gonna be able to hear me? But I looked up and I could
see this little light—this tiny little light—just going... it was my Dad, right?
Well, come to find out later that's—that wasn't a flashlight it was a—it was the
light on the end of a battery charger for your cell phone; like one of those
extension of life ones. He had taken that off and he was using that to hike down the
Grand Canyon and find me. It was this little tiny light, but it gave me all the
hope I needed to move forward. And I tell you that story because so often we're
tempted to think: "I don't I don't know what to say—I don't know what to do for
someone who's struggling—for my loved one, for my son, for my daughter, for my
brother, my sister, my friend, I don't know what to do. But I promise you, I—I know
things don't always work out the way we want them to—but I promise you that what
you do—and the light you offer, and the acts of service you render—when
you do them in love—and that little light makes a difference. It saves lives.
And I promise you that if you are struggling with suicidal thoughts, if you
feel like your life doesn't matter, I promise you does that one day—if you
hold that reason for living close to your heart—one day you will stand on the
precipice of the canyon and look back and realize that it was worth it—
moving forward, giving presentations, dealing with kids who are struggling,
being the parent who stays up late for their child—it's all worth it.
Thank you.