There’s an image in my mind.
I’m standing, alone and facing a mountain.
Nothing but trees, overgrowth, and wildly growing bits and pieces of brush. Limbs, broken and resting in varying degrees of decay.
I stand, perplexed by the mountain.
My feet find level ground and planted still and resolute, I focus on the mountain. I am waiting to see.
Concerns and unanswered prayers linger.
Days interrupt with distractions but are filled with ritual; yet, sometimes spontaneity.
But, then a thought, a nudge reminds…there’s still this looming concern, this heart-tugging issue, this still mysterious waiting to be “done and stronger for it” nagging unknown.
Diversions are good, like standing in an open field and turning to notice a bird, happy to witness its flight.
Or deciding to rest, so lying down and mesmerized, getting lost in the bright blue and feathery white fluff of the wide expanse of sky.
Or deciding to walk down a path leveled by another’s feet
To feel compelled, excited to venture…to digress for a bit
To allow a break from the discipline of waiting.
Then suddenly reminded, like the turn of the head or the glance over the shoulder… the mountain, you remember the waiting, the unknown.
Still there, still overwhelming
Obscuring your view, reminding you of the enormity of it and the uselessness of your abilities.
Nothing good comes by force, you remember.
Nothing to do but wait
So, I wait. Heels dug in, feet level, balanced, eyes focused. Heart surrendered.
I wait, because I know the immovable can only be moved by God.
I pray. I do not lose hope.
Mountains can be moved.
Surrendered and expectant to see the clearing, good, the better, the best.
The mountain before you will become a plain. Grace, grace. It is God’s grace. Zechariah 4:7