When the Mountain doesn’t move

If you're tired of trying to hold everything together, this is for you.

Most books tell one story. One character arc. One tidy transformation. But life isn’t like that. It doesn’t move in a straight line. It loops, circles, doubles back. It plot-twists you when you least expect it.

I used to think there would be a moment when everything clicked into place. (Actually, I thought that was when I turned 30.) Then I wanted a divine sign. A clear voice that would rise up and say: “This is the way. Walk in it.” (like the Mandalorian way of doing things- my husband likes Star Wars, and I’ve picked up on a few quotes)

Instead, I found myself worn out, stubborn, and too busy trying to fix everything in front of me. Like I was God’s assistant, taking over His desk while He stepped away.

I would sit on the porch. Over and over, that became my thinking spot my place to exhale. I would stare out and ask myself,

What am I supposed to do?

How do I carry this grief, this disappointment, this tangled mess of questions, responsibilities, and expectations?

How do I keep moving forward when everything in me feels buried beneath the rubble?

Every time, my instinct was to fix it. Solve the problem. Get over the mountain. Push through.

But the more I pushed, every time I pushed the more things fell apart.

The Wilderness Isn’t a Punishment

That’s when I learned what the wilderness really is: not a punishment. It’s an invitation.

The longer I stayed there, the more I could hear it—a whisper I had always been waiting for.

Let go. Lay it down. I never asked you to carry it alone.

It sounds almost cliche, doesn’t it? "Let go and let God." We stitch it on pillows and write it in cursive on coffee mugs. But I had to live it. I had to come to the end of myself before I could find the beginning of peace.

I didn’t want to be like the Israelites, wandering for forty years because they couldn’t release their need to control. Couldn’t trust the God who had already parted the sea. Oh, how I wish I only wandered for 40 nights because it was more like 40 years! In all my wandering, I kept hoping for a roadmap. But Jesus never offered directions—He is the way.

“I am the way, the truth, and the life. No one comes to the Father except through Me.” — John 14:6

Not a fix. A presence. A path I could follow one surrendered step at a time. So, take notes. We don’t want to keep going around the same mountain. We don’t want to keep circling our pain, our stories, our fears of being undone. There is no becoming without surrender.

Sacred Surrender

When I finally laid it all down not as a grand gesture, but as an exhausted, holy mess moment—something shifted.

The mountain didn’t move.

But I did.

And that was enough to begin.

A Question for You

Where have you been circling the same mountain? What if the way forward starts with surrender? What if that’s the bravest way home? Home to YOURSELF.

I’d love to hear your story. Send me an email or just whisper it out loud on your own porch. I believe it still matters.

And if you're just getting started, welcome. You’re not alone.

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