As if there’s this mountain
that I’ll never be able to climb,
that I’m unable to scale,
that I can’t go around.
It dwarfs me, is impossibly bigger than me, and stares me down in a way that makes me cower. It petrifies and terrifies me and makes me wonder if it’s possible to simply stay on the side I’m on. I already know the answer – I can’t stay here, and I have to find a way to get through, around, or over this monstrosity.
The question is how?
Isn’t that always the question?
How do I navigate this mess? How do I follow you, Lord, when everything has been turned on its head? How do I get past it? How do I forgive? How do I love when it’s the last thing that I want to do? How do I keep this from affecting my belief in who I am and who I know you to be? How do I honor when my flesh wants to lash out?
No, but seriously, how?
I don’t have all the answers. Heck, I don’t have any of them.
Which is why I’m sitting on my bed late at night typing. Because I’m hoping that in my wretchedness, the Lord will show up. Because I can’t do this another day without him. Because I haven’t been able to deal with it and I don’t know what I’m doing. I’m at my wit’s end; I’m desperate.
I’ve been short, terse, rude, and overall straight up ignoring specific people these past few days. I’ve run out of things to say and keep hearing that age-old adage of, “If you have nothing nice to say, don’t say anything at all.” So I’m silent, fuming and wondering what else I could possibly do.
Prayer. That’s my best weapon and my biggest comfort. I pray for strength, for wisdom, for revelation, for hope, for mercy, for grace, for love, for forgiveness. I ask for understanding. I have a conversation with the Father going, back and forth. He’s the one that I need to talk with, he’s the one whose opinion matters most, he’s the one who can move this mountain.
A song keeps running through my head as I sit here. “I’m gonna climb this mountain with my hands wide open.”
I hum the tune over and over and over again.
I don’t really think I can climb this at all, let alone with my hands open.
Jesus, what do you have for me in this? What lessons do I need to learn? Jesus, I don’t think I can do this. But I know that I know that I know that you have a plan and that means more to me than my feelings right now. The truth of the matter is that you are sovereign. The reality is that you work things for your glory.
Even when I don’t understand. Especially when I don’t understand.
So if this mountain is one that I need to climb with my hands open, I’m ready to start the trek. I trust you, even if I can only see a few feet in front of me at a time. You’ve brought me through hard things before, and I trust that you will again.
I look up, and can’t see the top. There’s a mass of clouds obscuring my view, but like with any mountain, I know that there has to be a summit. I know that there has to be an end to the stone that goes straight up as far as my eyes can see. That there will subsequently be a way down.
I’m hoping that the view from the top is breathtaking and that you’ll lead me there.
I’m hoping that when I get there I can breathe deeply.
Maybe it will take a week. Maybe it’ll take a year. Maybe it’ll take ten.
However long it takes.
It’s going to be a process. It’ll be day by day, step by step, moment by moment. His timing is so much better than mine, and his plan is so much greater. I’m stuck here, staring, but it’s time to get a move on.