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.