Faith in the Falls

Yosemite Creek's descent is a dramatic one. The upper falls readily command attention from across the valley, while the lower portions demand would-be admirers to exert some effort—and a bit of faith.

A compact, white spray shoots from the top of a 1,400-foot cliff, spreading as it plummets toward the valley floor, casting ever-changing shadows across the rock face and sending clouds of ghostly mist out over the trees below. This is Yosemite Falls, one of the 10 tallest waterfalls in the world. But for a time, I questioned their very existence—at least in part.

Yosemite Falls actually includes three falls: the upper falls, the middle cascades, and the lower falls. The 1,400-foot upper falls command attention from far across Yosemite Valley and claim a prominent place on postcards and T-shirts in the park bookstore. The dominant visibility of the upper falls contrasts sharply with the obscurity of the lower two-thirds, lurking in the trees and on top of the lower cliffs and ledges. And as my family walked toward the lower falls this spring, I joked with Lizzy that I didn't believe they were really there.

The trail to the lower falls weaves through a thick forest of evergreens—a pleasant, gently sloping, paved path, just the kind of trail we like for hiking with Caroline, pushing her along in her giant special-needs stroller. As the trek stretched on, we gained elevation and passed some of the huge boulders that always lie at the base of Yosemite's famous cliffs, but no falls made an appearance. Even the highly visible upper falls had vanished behind trees and mountainous rock.

Our view of the lower falls came only
after a long hike through the trees.

To be sure, we had come across evidence of the falls: The trail intermittently followed a river that, presumably, came from the falls, and the distant sound of rushing, cascading, splashing water grew as we got deeper into the trees. Occasionally, peering through the green ahead, we would catch a passing glimpse of something white high in the rocks, but tree branches quickly closed upon the view as if trying to capture and hold a secret. Signs pointed the way to the falls, and we passed hikers coming the other way, chattering about what they had seen. But a full, clear, unmistakable view of the falls had yet to present itself to our eyes.

As I teased Lizzy about my faltering faith in the falls, I recognized a metaphor in our experience: Although we are often presented with abundant evidence of God's existence and love, without a direct, clear, unobstructed view, we sometimes begin to doubt. All around us in life—as on the trail—we confront witnesses of God's influence: The perfect, intricate beauty of the natural world; the wonder of life; feelings of hope, faith, and love; scriptures; the testimony of prophets and others who have had personal experience.

Yet even with all these witnesses, we begin to question. We have walked a long way on this trail of life, and we still haven't had a clear view of God. We've been working hard, and the way is getting more difficult. Is all this effort worth it? Is this trail really leading us to God? What if all this so-called evidence has another explanation? Are we wasting our time and energy?

It is tempting, at times, to give up, turn around, and walk away. In the face of ever-deeper doubt and an ever-steeper trail, we are "prone to wander," to leave the path and head off into the trees. But leaving the trail only takes us further from God and from the evidence of his existence. The sound of the water becomes harder to hear, we lose the river off in the trees somewhere, we distance ourselves from people who have seen the falls, we no longer see the trail signs. With diminished witnesses, we feel justified in our decision to leave the path. "See?" we tell ourselves and others. "All those things we once saw and heard that made us believe in the falls must have been imagined or misinterpreted. They were delusions and illusions."

At the end of our hike, we  enjoyed a clear
view of Upper and Lower Yosemite Falls.

But if we persist on the trail, despite doubt, debate, and the difficulty of the way, the evidence grows. We get closer and closer to God and see and feel more and more of his love, until eventually we bask in full view of his glory. As Moroni says, "Ye receive no witness until after the trial of your faith" (Ether 12:6). This concept, of course, should not surprise us; it is a cardinal principle of life. We must hike the mountain to enjoy the vista, we must study the textbook to gain the knowledge, we must practice the skill to develop the talent. Should not the greatest knowledge also demand faith and work?

On the trail to Lower Yosemite Falls, we finally rounded a bend and could see, between the thick brown tree trunks ahead, crowds of people, standing and looking off to our right at something hidden by the trees. Great clouds of mist floated from the right, out over the people, and on into the valley. We still could not see the falls, but the sound was now a great thundering roar that filled the forest, and we could sense the joy and the wonder of the people being showered by the mist. Filled with renewed hope and faith, with a clear view of the smiling faces of others who stood in the mist, receiving the glory of the falls, we hurried on to join them.

---