Faith Climbs Mountains

Faith moves mountains. I believe that. There is no doubt in my mind that miracles occur daily, sometimes quietly or other times in an undeniable manifestation. But more often, faith CLIMBS mountains. Those mountains that won't move -- that God doesn't see fit to remove from our path for reasons that I'm certain we will thank Him for later -- those ones, we have to climb. And that takes faith from the deepest reserves of our soul to trust that we are capable of climbing, that we will reach the top, and that there is a view up there more majestic than we can imagine. One that we don't see from the bottom looking up, but only from the top looking down and out and around.

I rocked my baby girl this afternoon for her nap while she drank her bottle and rustled her hands through her hair like she does every single time she drinks her bottle. Bottle goes to her mouth, hands go to her hair, and I love it. As I watched her, I smiled, and I reflected on the beauty and fullness of this moment in my life as a mother. My last baby, barely a baby anymore. Remembering how I waited, counting every minute and second for the first few months of all of my babies' lives to fly by so that the postpartum anxiety and depression would dissipate and let me have my life back. It always did. But those days when I had to suffer through it were harrowing, to say the least. Those times are just memories now. Mountains that I already climbed. The views at the top WERE and ARE worth it. Absolutely worth every tear and every torn muscle.

While I rocked her and thought of the happiness of my life these days, friends, and even strangers, came to my mind who are in the process of climbing their own mountains right now. Some are still standing at the bottom looking up and wondering why it won't just move, how they're going to make it up there, and if there is anything for them at the top. A friend who lost her husband unexpectedly in his sleep one night and raises three children on her own right now is always on my mind. Another friend trying so desperately to have a baby, losing her dad to cancer recently and watching her mom barely hanging on because of another illness. A mother, whom I do not know, who took her own life this week because of a battle with postpartum psychosis and leaves behind 6 of her babies and a heartbroken husband. The sister of someone in my family dealing with her husband's brain tumor. A beautiful young girl, spreading light and hope while she is confined to her bed with bipolarity, living in a world of darkness and, ironically, teaching others of light. A beautiful friend struggling with the consequences of her husband's addiction.

Because I've climbed and made it to the top several times,  I believe it is my responsibility to urge on other climbers. I know how lonely it can feel when you're hanging on to the side, praying you don't fall off, wondering if Heaven is even listening. I know how tired you can feel up there when you've been climbing for days, weeks, years and still haven't reached the top. I know what it's like, even if we climb different mountains for different periods of time. And if there's one thing that climbing mountains has taught me it's compassion. I didn't want to do it alone, and I don't want others to do it alone if I am able to cheer them on and send my voice to Heaven along with theirs.

Everybody has mountains. Everybody. That was something that used to make me angry with God. If you love us all so much, why do you let us cry out in pain? I just couldn't make sense of it. I was always annoyed at Heavenly Father when they came, my mountains and other people's mountains. Do you not hear us? What are you doing up there?

But after reaching the top of one of the steepest and most strenuous climbs of my life, one that I was sure would break me body and soul, I saw something. The view from the top took my breath away. THIS is what I had climbed for. I knew then, and I know every time now, that God is in the details of our lives. He sees that view from the top. He knows what's coming when we keep climbing. He knows that we can climb, that we are capable. And He is cheering us on.

So long ago, a baby was born. That baby grew and became a perfect man. He loved, forgave, healed, blessed, lifted, regenerated, bled, died, and overcame so that He could climb mountains for us and with us. You are not alone. The God of Heaven and Earth does hear you, He knows your pain, and "He and the angels of Heaven weep with you." What my mountains have taught me I thank Him for daily. Faith can move mountains, but I am so grateful that faith often climbs them instead.