I live in a land of deadly beauty.

Awe fills me as I stand staring upward. Massive tree trunks tower above me, silent witnesses that have stood guard since the days when the kings of Babylon ruled the earth. A movement beside me puts me instantly back on guard. Relax, I tell myself. It’s only a millipede. Only a millipede that excretes cyanide from its skin and can squirt a blinding liquid into my eyes or bite me so tenaciously that I would have to excise my own flesh to get it off me. And that is relatively tame compared to the myriad life forms around me that, in their stunning beauty, can inflict agony rivaling that of any medieval torture chamber.

Climbing higher, I come to a river gushing over brilliant white rocks into emerald pools. I do not linger at the vision, however. In just seconds, this tranquility can be shattered by a flash flood that would bash me against those boulders and carry me to the sea.

Breaking out of the undergrowth, I pause. This is what I came to see. The majestic, mist-enshrouded mountains. Mountains that hold secrets hidden for generations. Secrets more deadly than any natural threat in their steaming jungles.

The mountains draw me to them. They call to me. I must reach them or die in the attempt. For in their valleys and on their slopes, demons hold men in slavery. Theirs is a venom more horrible than anything nature knows. As a Christian, I carry the only antidote. Oh, that the mountain people would trust me, for Jesus alone can free them from the terror of death and restore them to the beauty of their land.

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