It was cold last week... Icy windows, numb fingers, chapped lips kind of cold. But every time I wanted to complain, I thought about the three men lost up on Mount Hood.
I didn't see the mountain every day, especially because of winter storms that shrouded it from view, but the rescue effort was never far from my mind, never out of my prayers for more than a few minutes.
Maybe it was because of the death of James Kim in the Oregon wilderness only weeks ago that the story of Kelly James, Brian Hall, and Jerry Cooke captivated us so much. Or maybe the face and voice of Kelly James' brother giving information to the press lent reality to news that is usually fraught with fluff.
The families of the three climbers spoke with assurance even in the midst of their uncertainty. They didn't turn to prayer only in desperation. They were people of prayer before tragedy ever struck. And they will remain people of prayer though their husbands and brothers were not found alive.
It's been two days since the rescue effort changed to a recovery effort. Instead of 45 minute breaking news press conferences, the story of these climbers now only warrants a fifteen second blip after we've seen interviews of the people stranded at the airport, a cute piece on a plastic baby Jesus that was kidnapped and returned, and another inane report by a journalist standing in the middle of the road warning us that the rain she's standing in has no chance of turning to snow, but if it did, think about the news story we'd have then.
And the families mourn.
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