i've been thinking a lot about mountains lately: cold mountain, mountain walks, mountain drives, mountain tops. high on a mountain top. mountains tend to be used symbolically as temples. going up to the mountain to be alone with God. mountains and temples, after all, are intended to bring us to God--or perhaps to allow us to bring ourselves to Him.
cold mountain is the name of the region on the west end of the city of kharkov. (quite literally, the name of the area is холодная гора.) i served there twice while in ukraine. once on one side of the шлях (a large boulevard, of sorts.), then later on the other side. once near the beginning of my mission, once at the very end. and being sent back to that mountain--going back up the mountain? it was one of the hardest things i've ever done in my entire life.
i went up to the mountain because you asked me to.*
i never expected to have to go back to the mountain. the first time there was one of the darkest, emptiest, most desperation-filled experiences. and just the thought of the place and time consumed me (and the companion with whom i shared the bulk of it) with a trapped and paralyzing horror. the kind that accompanies when looking straight into various corners of hell that took turns opening around us. stuck. like skating round a tiny piece of ice without ever actually moving. but we did it. learned some powerful lessons. and we moved forward, leaving the mountain as a mostly-dark piece of the past. a piece we fully intended to remain forever in the past, though it took months to recover.
until i was called to go back.
i was asked to go back up the mountain.
and so i did.
i wish i had concise words to describe the mountain or why it was filled with such hopelessness and sorrow. what it was that made the days so dark, God seem so far, or the sensation of being trapped in mud while chipping away at a thick block of ice. two and almost three years since my cold mountains, and i'm still sorting through that small box inside my soul--the smallest box that weighs the heaviest. only in compiling all her pieces and all my experiences with her, can the mountain ever be fully understood. all this time, and i'm still learning what the mountain taught me, what she's teaching me, and what she was supposed to teach me.
it was among the hardest things i've ever had to do. but i did it. and in doing so, i'd like to believe that my character was lifted. my second mountain was different than the first in a million ways, but it still required me to look those former demons in the face and defeat them. i came to know God and His nature in the mountain. and found that just because you go to the mountain, doesn't mean God is there. i've never felt farther from God or seen so much of satan and his grip than i did in that place. but as God came and i saw Him, i've never been closer to heaven. we must swing low before He lifts us higher.
and isn't it the same with our relationship with God? He can't be restricted to our understanding of a singular moment in time. He is the sum total of every experience we've ever had with Him or without Him, including those we hardly remember. He's infinitely more than we give Him credit for, His omniscience and omnipotence much more profound and capable than perhaps we truly realize.
we go to the mountain, that we may see. to look out upon the valley and the winding path of the canyon roads. each and every curve is purposeful, wrapping around the mountain grandeur. inside the curve, though, we don't see the whole canyon and the way she leads to the top of the mountain or opens into the plentiful valley. we can't see unless we keep going. and when we reach the top, light penetrates all that waits below.
i drove to the top of a mountain today, looking out from one mountain peak to another in curves without patterns that never seem to end. here i sit--to listen to the wind on my soul. a wide variety of nature's admirers have come and gone, though rarely do they stay. most park their car, truck, motorcycle, or bike and swiftly pull out their phone to snatch their glimpse of this glorious vista. some take a few selfies, or ask me to take photos of them together, then jump back in their car and keep driving.
i'm still here. only two individuals have been here longer than me: an old man and woman in a golden truck. at first, he stayed in the car and she sat for awhile on a nearby bench. then she came for him, coaxing him out of the warmth of the car for a small spell on that lovely bench. they're both back in the car now, but they're still here. me and this older couple at the top of a mountain. it's getting colder now. but we're still here.
seek and ye shall find, we're told over and over again. but in our seekings, do we even allow for anything more than a quick snapshot before hopping back onto the road of life, without even giving second thought to that very view we leave in the hands of a camera to capture? have you truly found, if you haven't actually seen what you've found?
i know i usually don't, and i daresay i'm not the only one. i seek and strive and struggle towards that mountain top, hardly leaving space for God to get a word in and show me what i'm seeing. i wish i was better at stopping to feel the glory of the wind itself--autumn chill and all. to listen to the wind on my soul, the tune of which only God really knows.**
go up to the mountain, because He asked you to. and when you get there, stop and stay awhile. let Him show you around--show you your own land of flowing milk and honey.*** even if it's cold, it's still worth the view. i promise.
we go up to the mountain in order to find God. but in order to truly find Him, we first have to let Him be found. we find God when we bring ourselves to Him, when we arrive at His temple with open hands and hearts.
high on a mountain top--this is where i see.
and that older couple? they're still here.
still see(k)ing.
(but while you're there, who's to say taking a moment for a shamelessselfie is a bad idea? certainly not me.)
