The Rev. Serena Sellers is an assistant to the bishop for the ELCA Southeastern Pennsylvania Synod, and adjunct faculty at the Lutheran Theological Seminary at Philadelphia. She lives in Quakertown, Pa., with her husband, the Rev. Raymond Miller, her two daughters, Lydia and Evelyn, and the family dog, DaVinci. Their son, Matt, is currently teaching in Malaysia in the Fulbright Scholars program. This is Serena's story.

"Mom, I know what I want for my graduation present." My son, Matt, had just finished his junior year at Penn State. I am always either planning ahead or trying to catch up, so Matt was only a little surprised when I asked what he would like as his graduation gift. It took him about a week to decide.

"I want you to climb Mount Kilimanjaro with me!"

"You want me to what?"

I’ve always thought Matt had a great imagination, but this was ridiculous. I had never climbed a mountain — climbing the stairs usually made me breathe hard. Our family camping trips had been few and far between, and they had generated a dozen comic family disaster stories.

Matt was a bit more prepared than I. He had completed his first marathon run that spring and had recently returned from a month in Ghana helping to build a school and assisting with AIDS education.

Mount Kilimanjaro in Africa is the tallest free-standing mountain in the world, with an elevation of 19,340 feet. More than 3,000 feet higher than the highest peak in the Alps, Kilimanjaro’s Uhuru Peak is one of the "Seven Summits," the lifetime goal of many mountaineers. A Kilimanjaro trek doesn’t require advanced mountaineering skills, like rappelling or using an ice ax, but it’s no walk in the park. It’s a serious climb up a serious mountain.

A million reasons why not came to mind. How would my husband and younger children manage while I was off mountain climbing? How would I even begin to arrange a trip halfway around the world on a limited budget? I was just starting to serve as interim pastor at a new congregation and would need to use all my vacation time. But the biggest reason why not was my body.

I have never been an athlete. As a child, when teams were choosing up sides, I was chosen because of the loyalty of my friends, not my coordination. Ever since grade school I had been "big-boned." By the time my son made his request, that extra weight was felt in my knees. I had to wonder how bunions, rheumatoid arthritis, and a minor case of asthma would impact a five-day ascent to high altitude.

And yet ... I had always imagined myself an adventurer. As a professional interim pastor, I constantly work in high-stress situations. I pride myself on being up for the challenge of new experiences. But this was not just a mental or emotional challenge. This was a physical challenge ... and maybe a spiritual challenge. My son had challenged me to see my limitations and myself differently.

The challenge
Stewardship may seem like a funny word to describe the idea, but the more I thought about climbing the highest mountain on the continent of Africa, the more I realized that it was a challenge to become an exceptional steward. I was going to exercise control over my life by giving control of my life to God in a new way. An undertaking as bold as this was going to require careful use of every resource that God had given me: money, time, energy, intellect, courage, hope, and my pitiful neglected body.

A few nudges from God began to make themselves felt. A delegation from our companion synod, the North Eastern Diocese of the Evangelical Lutheran Church of Tanzania, visited our synod. Their faith and courage in bringing the gospel to people in extreme poverty was inspiring. I also learned that the congregation that I had just been called to serve had been supporting medical missionaries, Mark and Linda Jacobson, for years. Where was their mission? Arusha, Tanzania, in the shadow of Kilimanjaro. Finally there was enough to tip the scales of my incredulity.

"Okay, Matt," I said, "if we can make it a climb-a-thon to raise funds for ministries in Tanzania, I’ll do it." Matt answered, "Just think how great that picture is going to look on the wall of your room in the nursing home someday!" That might be sooner than you think, I thought as we laughed.

We had a year to prepare. I knew very little about Tanzania or mountain climbing, but I learned more every day. My son gathered up recommendations of mountain guides. I searched the Internet for information about visas, immunizations, and cheap accommodations. I discovered that I would need to add a special rider to my insurance policy to cover mountain climbing — this trip was considered "adventure travel," just like a hang-gliding or bungee-jumping excursion.

The training
Most days, training meant getting up early to climb the stairs for aerobic benefit and to strengthen my legs. At first I huffed and puffed a few flights at a time, but eventually I was doing 45 minutes or more without stopping. Lifting weights helped to build my muscles for carrying a pack. Yoga helped my flexibility and balance. As the climb grew closer, I began taking long hikes with a loaded pack, driving on my day off to find hills to climb near town.

A workout buddy was a great help. A friend from church was an inspiration. A marathon runner who had started as a couch potato, she was sympathetic when I felt overwhelmed. We could rarely schedule time to exercise together, but we met to hold each other accountable, and we regularly prayed for each other.

My sister wrote to me from France. She warned me that her day hike in the Alps was harder than the long marches she had endured in the army. I researched altitude sickness: its typical symptoms include nausea, diarrhea, headache, disorientation, and muscle fatigue. This is the reason so many attempts to reach the summit of Kilimanjaro fail. No amount of sea-level training can prepare a person for the effects of altitude. Each person reacts differently to the reduced oxygen and air pressure, and as rare as fatalities are, there are a few on Kilimanjaro each year. I wasn’t going to get a chance to train for that. The Poconos are not exactly high altitude.

By Christmas, my backpack, walking poles, sleeping bag, water purification system, and other gear began to take over a corner of the living room. My husband made sure that Santa brought a Swahili phrasebook and guidebooks to add to the pile. By February, friends were noticing a significant change. As people asked about my weight loss, I began to disclose why I was so motivated to get in shape. Inevitably, after a wide-eyed moment, they wished me luck and gave me encouragement.

In April, I gave a talk on Tanzania to the social studies class at my daughter’s middle school. In early May, I addressed our synod assembly and shared my plan. People offered almost $3,000 for ministries in Tanzania there. I had my hair cut short in expectation of a week of physical exertion with no showers. By early June we were ready to meet the mountain.

The journey
When we got to Tanzania, we spent a day in the capital, then took a bus to Lushoto for a visit with our companion synod. We stayed in the Tumaini hostel run by the diocese and ate well in its restaurant. We were delighted to hike up nearby Irente Peak. On the way up the mountain, we visited the Rainbow School, a newly opened school for the mentally disabled. The next stop was the Irente Children’s Home, a ministry offering love and care for orphaned infants and education in child development for local girls.

Just up from the orphanage was the School for the Blind, also run by the diocese. Last, we visited Irente Farm. The farm promotes sustainable development while generating income, produce, milk, and meat for the other ministries on the mountain.

The stunning view from Irente viewpoint paled in comparison to the beauty of the hardworking and dedicated people of our companion synod. The mountain looked easy compared to the obstacles of poverty and need that these faithful Christians climbed every day. After participating in Sunday worship and Monday morning devotions in the diocese office, Matt and I headed to Arusha to meet our guides, Solomon and Lazzaro ("like Jesus’ friend that was raised from the dead," he told us).

The next morning we were ready to go. Our van was full of people, but there were no other first-time climbers with us. These men were our support team: cook and porters to carry our supplies. We were the first group of climbers after the rainy season, and the team was full of lively conversation. My Swahili phrase book was useless.

The climb
We walked from an equatorial rain forest to a glacier that has been frozen since before recorded history. Each day brought new challenges and triumphs. There was not a single night that I didn’t collapse on my sleeping bag gratefully. Every morning I woke with amazement at where I was and how I had gotten there. Did my knees ache? You bet. Was it worth it? Yes!

The final ascent is over loose scree, a steep shifting surface of gravel and ice. This stage begins in the cold of midnight, when the ice is frozen harder, making for more solid footing. We stepped off, and within moments realized that this was going to be a greater challenge than we had trained for. The batteries froze and my flashlight went dark. We climbed by the light of the stars, peering a few feet ahead. An hour into the walk, the mouthpiece and insulator of my hydration pack fell off. I would have less than a liter of water for the next 13 hours of climbing. Worst of all was the thin air. More and more often I had to ask the group to stop so that I could catch my breath and regain my strength.

Breath, ruach in Hebrew, also means spirit, and I felt my spirit flagging as my strength and breath were stretched to the limit. Breath, pneuma in Greek, also means self. I felt my determination slipping in the face of the challenge. But then I remembered the babies in the Irente Children’s Home and the courage of their caretakers. They were bold enough to do whatever needed to be done in the love of Christ. I took inspiration, an inflow of the Spirit, from their courageous stewardship. "The Lord is my light and my salvation."

As we stood by the sign at Uhuru Peak, Lazzaro asked me, "How do you feel? Are you happy?" "Happy" didn’t begin to describe my feelings.

I was grateful. Grateful for the invitation to dream an enormously bold dream. Grateful for the generous support of family and friends. Grateful for our patient guides, cook, and porters from the Maasai and Chagga tribes. And most of all, I was grateful to the One above all tribes and nations, who loves us enough to make us bold!