Ecuador, my January.
When I think about this place, I think about the mountains. And when I think about my soul there, I think about climbing… or at least the desire to. I’m convinced Quito is exactly where I needed to be last month. Mostly because my struggles mirrored my geography—steep, challenging.
The Lord knows this is how I operate.
He knows when I see peace in landscapes, I feel peace. And when I see mountains, I feel an inescapable hunger to overcome. To hike. To change pace and elevation—in more ways than one. I want to venture. I want to hear nothing but birds and streams. And boots on gravel. I want to smell cool, crisp air. To speak with my heart instead of my voice. To find myself immersed in the Lord's creation and be speechless.
The mountains are where I’m from. My heart gets lost in them. They provide comfort and a sense of home. My worries diminish in their presence. I once had a conversation with a professor on the top of a mountain. I remember him saying, perhaps more to himself than to me, “I don’t understand why more people don’t come here.” He also said more than that, but that’s the part that stuck with me.
I don’t understand it either.
The mountains of East Tennessee… my home.
Generally speaking, I began the World Race knowing who I am. Knowing the things I needed to "work on." And I composed a nice little mental list for myself. (Note to self: Beware of boxes.)
1. Learn how to love well.
2. Learn how to extend grace.
3. Escape American culture for a bit.
4. Develop a more biblical view of the world.
I determined these goals then set my mind on them. I set my mind on the summit. Not only did I avoid the climb, I completely forgot the importance of engagement. Of focus and presence.
Turns out, God doesn’t change when I leave the U.S. My relationship with Him doesn’t change from country to country. I don’t just change because I decided to escape American culture for a year. So as Ecuador came to an end, I found myself holding onto my pride. Clinging to my rightness. Turning from gentleness and favoring certain fruits over others. I found myself consumed by conditionality.
A huge mountain was placed in my path. And I refused to climb it. I refused the thing I love. I refused the thing I asked for.
The mountains of Quito, Ecuador.
But the cool thing about God is that He doesn’t give up. He’s a pursuer. He’s a gentleman. He promises to complete the work He starts. And He wants to climb mountains with us. He wants to be there for every step and pick us up when we fall and listen to us when we complain about blisters.
Trujillo looks different than Quito. Its terrain isn’t as beautiful, and there are lots of mosquitoes. (There is no way mosquitoes serve any kind of good purpose in the world. I really wish they were on the brink of extinction.) I haven’t seen any pink and orange Ecuadorian sunsets here, but I have experienced plenty of iridescent purplish-black nights. And there are mountains too.
They’re not near as colossal as the ones in Quito. But these mountains appear out of nowhere, making them arguably more noticeable. They hide behind veils of white fog for most of the morning. I've never seen anything like it.
There are days I wake a little sad because I've forgetten they're there. Because I think I'm alone in the flatlands. Then I'll remember. I'll walk to the edge of our porch so I see as few remnants of human existence as possible—no tents or trash cans or passersby. And I'll look for them there.
This is what I'm doing now, at 10:21 am.
I peer into the distance and notice the straightness of the horizon line that divides my view. Imagine a square. The bottom half is comprised of a dark green crop field. The top half is paper white. At first glance, that's all I see. It's what any unassuming stranger would see.
But I know it's there—hiding. I focus on the white sky and see a light gray triangle forming about 1,000 feet from the green part. It's the peak of my favorite mountain in Trujillo. A daily invitation from my Father.
The mountains of Trujillo, Perú.
Our God doesn't give up. He'll always offer up a second chance. A third and a fourth. That's what this mountain represents to me. A challenge. The climb. The hope of growth. A reminder that God is with me… in America, in Ecuador and in Perú.
Let's run,
Julie
