Beauty on the Backroads

Stories of grace for life's unexpected turns

mountains

The writing on the rock

Sometimes, truth is so obvious, you wonder why you didn’t notice it before.

Our ladies’ Bible study is working through a series of lessons on spiritual gifts, and several weeks ago, we focused on ways we’ve stepped out in faith, felt God leading us, and when we’ve been most fulfilled in our walks with Him.

Powerful stuff. I wasn’t sure at first how this exercise would turn out, but I was amazed by what I discovered. We made a list of experiences and events in our lives, then looked for patterns and how that related to where God might be taking us next.

I’d never seen a pattern in my most meaningful experiences before, but what I noticed was that God often called me to do something that seemed impossible, impractical or insane to other people. And when I did those things, my faith deepened and I learned to trust God a little more.

But time can be a great eraser of memories, and I forget easily how much I’ve learned. Maybe it’s because I don’t exercise my faith enough.

So God reminded me.

In a big way.

When we had detected a pattern, we were to then write a word or phrase in marker on a rock that represented where God was taking us next.

I chose the word “impossible.”

And got this.

Sure, it’s a long word and I had a short rock and big handwriting. But I didn’t do this on purpose. When I’d finished, I felt like I’d been smacked in the head.

The future might seem impossible, but God says “I’m possible.”

The Bible even says that.

“What is impossible with man is possible with God.” (Luke 18:27)

Days later, I heard one of my favorite songs on the radio: “I Will Lift My Eyes” by Bebo Norman.

The chorus goes like this.

I will lift my eyes to the Maker
Of the mountains I can’t climb

© Sebastian Grecu | Dreamstime.com

I will lift my eyes to the Calmer
Of the oceans raging wild

© Iperl | Dreamstime.com

I will lift my eyes to the Healer
Of the hurt I hold inside

© Chris Galbraith | Dreamstime.com

I will lift my eyes, lift my eyes to You

© Jakub Cejpek | Dreamstime.com

What unclimbable mountains, raging oceans, or hidden hurts are you facing? What’s “impossible” about your life right now?

With man, it’s impossible. With God, nothing is impossible.
I’m believing with you.

The view from our house

One of the perks of moving to Pennsylvania three years ago was its proximity to mountains. Growing up in Illinois — the flatlands, as it’s sometimes called — gave me an affinity for rolling terrain. There’s still something beautiful about being able to see for miles and taking in hundreds of acres of farmland in a single glance.

But there’s something about mountains that takes my breath away.

Where we live in Pennsylvania is a valley between mountains. We can see mountains in the distance in every direction. I was especially fond of the view from our front picture window, looking south.

I thought I had a picture of it. I don’t. I’m sorry.

Even more so because a few months ago, this happened, and we lost our view of the mountain completely.
I sort of feel like this happened in my relationship with God.

Early on, I could see Him clearly. My eyes were opened to His presence, and I could sense Him walking with me on the way to my college classes, answering my prayers for opportunities to speak for Him, and blessing my commitment to write for Him, no matter the outcome.

In those days, before work and family and the stresses of life, God was like the view we used to have. He was right outside my window, and all I had to do was look for Him and I could see Him.

Now, though, God seems harder to find. I don’t doubt He’s there, I just can’t see Him as easily. I get glimpses of His presence, and He’s still answering prayers, but He’s not as … obvious. I’m not even sure that’s the word I’m looking for.

Maybe I’ve taken Him for granted. Like He’s been a part of my life so long that I’ve gotten used to seeing Him show up. That’s not necessarily a bad thing, but it’s not where I want to be. Like seeing the mountains again after a long absence in the plains, I want to be struck by His beauty, His majesty, the splendor of His holiness. I want the breath sucked right out of me because I can’t believe what I’m seeing.

The first time I took a walk around our block with Isabelle, I saw the mountain as I rounded the corner onto our street, and while the mountain is the same, the view is different. From this point today, I can still see the mountain unobstructed.

God has not moved. He’s still there. But I may have to change the point from which I look at Him. A different perspective. Through someone else’s eyes. It might be me who has to move to catch a glimpse of Him.