“Come on. We’re almost there!” my friends yelled.

But my legs and arms were shaking. Every step felt like that thousands of needles were sinking into my legs. There were three blisters on each of my feet. I couldn’t take it. Besides, because my bag was full, I put all my clothes on me, which made me feel very hot. Sweat was dripping down my face. It felt like I was in the Sahara!

It was Discovery Week. Grade Eight was visiting Altai for a week. We were going up the mountain called the Devil’s Finger. And the mountain was getting steeper. Most of the people, including my friends, were already on the top, screaming, laughing and taking selfies. Suddenly, I realized that I had left my hat on the bus, so I felt even worse. I touched my head. It was warm, but I couldn’t do anything about it. Sadly, I was still struggling forward and upward.

I was making my way slowly up the mountain. Suddenly, my foot stepped on something. It was a rock. The rock slipped from under my boot and went rolling down the mountain. I lost my balance and almost fell to the ground. “Are you OK?” I heard a voice behind me. “Yeah! I'm just taking a break,” I replied. I didn’t want others to notice that I fell down. That would be embarrassing.

There were only eight people behind me by that time, so I decided to increase the pace because I didn’t want to be the last one up. There were about 10 meters to the top, but that was still a tough journey because of the winding track. I looked up.

My best friend, Fiona, was already on the top, waving to me.

I was one of the last ones up the mountain.

I was lying in bed in the dark ready for sleep I got the heart-broken news that my parents lost their lives in the flight accident. I couldn’t accept the news for a long time, since nobody would stay with me in the empty house. In the weeks that followed, with depression and grief, I decided to continue seeing the counselor on my own. One day, he gave me a homework assignment: I was to write down a list of one hundred life goals in my rest of my life.

It took me two weeks to complete the task. When I finally handed over the list, I was instructed me to pick one goal and take two small steps toward it before the following week. Looking over my list of one hundred goals, I chose. “Fly an airplane.” I bought a flying magazine. That was one step. Then I went to a local airport and arranged with a flight instructor to take a low-cost “Discovery Flight.”

And so began my journey to become a pilot, starting from scratch. No knowledge. No experience. When I bought $300 worth of textbooks, I began to question what I’d gotten myself into. Then came the fear that accompanies every new challenge thrown at one while flying.

That’s when I realized I needed to adjust my mental attitude. Somewhere along the way, I had read that people should tell themselves they were the best at whatever they were attempting to do. I took this to heart. With that well-hidden confidence. I sought the help of flight instructors and ground instructors. The instructors encouraged me to believe that I was born to be a super pilot and just to recover all this “lost” ability. No way would I ever miss a flying training class.

Eventually, the time came for my first flight check with the chief instructor, an airline pilot with 11,000 hours. As if I wasn’t nervous enough already, one of my classmates told me that he’d recently been through the same routine. Not only did he fail but he actually cried. But passing the test is a must to get the pilot certification.

The chief informed me that it’s my turn to accept the order and the check.

Several years later, a terrible earthquake happened in my hometown. And I was invited to help teenagers regain confidence after the disaster.

My husband’s sister-in-law died of cancer at 33, leaving a confused son Todd in the care of his father, who was not able to handle his own life. For the next 6 months, Todd was not only dealing with his personal world torn apart, but he was often laughed at and bullied (欺凌) by his classmates. What to do with Todd became the topic of family meetings and discussions.

Several of my husband’s relatives wanted to invite Todd into their homes and families, but they hadn’t made a decision yet. Our family of five—my husband, our three young children, and I—lived miles away from the rest of the family. Perhaps the best solution would be to remove Todd from his current location. After many serious discussions, we decided to take on the challenge. We would give him a fresh start—a new life.

We also determined that the choice to live with us must be Todd’s. When he was asked, he replied YES as if he had found a life-saving raft in an ocean of helplessness. That does not mean he was not afraid—he was terrified. I was, too. What if I could not be the mother he needed? How would my other children accept him? The day he was to arrive, I prepared my daughter, aged eight, and son, aged seven (the baby was too little) to help them understand that their cousin was coming to live with us and would be like an older brother. Their little minds thought it was wonderful!

When Todd arrived, he stood in the doorway, his face white with fear. He knew, and I knew, that the next step he took would change our lives forever. At ten years old, he had already experienced more emotional pain than most people do in a lifetime. “Todd, come in,” I said. “We are so excited to have you here. Come into the kitchen. I’ve made a cake.” I hoped my words were welcoming and cheerful.

Todd still stood there, not moving.

At that moment, Todd couldn’t hold back his tears any more.