Sometimes we grow restless and we chaff and squirm against what has grown common to us. Sometimes we rebel against our boundaries and we ache for other borders. We beg for a change of scenery, for fresh springs. This wasn’t the land of our choosing, or so we thought. Sometimes in our leaving and ultimately in our returning we find again why we loved these mountains in the first place. Maybe one of our greatest sins is that we grow accustomed to glory and call it common.
And then we find our way back, our way home again and we remember: these mountains hold all our stories.
Look, over there! That was the place where we first met. There was the river where we had that boating trip. Over there is where you proposed to me. That valley is where we fell in love. We hiked that ridge on our first 21-day course together. I grew up picnicking over that hill.
These mountains hold our stories, memories, like markers. Reminding us, rooting us back in the greater story, God’s story, the over-arching story of His kindness to us, His faithfulness to us, His sovereignty over us. These mountains that we buck against like enemies are strong friends rising up all around proclaiming, “He is good! He is loving! He was enough! He will be enough again.”
We can go on striving and tearing up the soil looking for something to grow, or we can surrender to what the Lord has done and is doing, looking instead for what is here, finding what is praiseworthy, finding all the gifts already around us. We can go on striving, or we can be satisfied now because He is with us in this land that sometimes feel small and cramped.
The Lord is my chosen portion and my cup;
you hold my lot.
The lines have fallen for me in pleasant places;
indeed, I have a beautiful inheritance.
(Planning to have a longer post up tomorrow with more about last weekend’s backpacking trip! Stay tuned!)