The Summit

Some people are drawn to the beach—the warmth of the sand, the rhythmic crash of waves, the endless horizon. But me? I crave the solitude of the mountains. I long for the trails that vanish into forest, the rugged peaks that truly feel like another world. When life spins out of control, when everything feels like it's crumbling around me, I retreat to the mountains. There, in the stillness, I seek the presence of God, and somehow, everything realigns. The chaos quiets. Perspective returns.

A few weeks ago, I needed that escape—I needed the mountains. On my first hike, as I climbed toward the summit, my legs burned, my lungs fought for air. Every step was a battle, some parts of the trail were smooth and easy, others filled with jagged rocks and hidden roots. It struck me then: this climb was just like my healing journey. Some moments feel effortless, but most demand focus, persistence, and a willingness to push through discomfort.

At one point, exhausted, I stopped to catch my breath. The thought crept in—turn back and head straight to my car. Going downhill is easy. But then I thought of the summit, the breathtaking views that awaited me, that feeling of making it to the top. If I turned around, I’d miss it all.

Healing is the same. The journey is steep, the obstacles real, but the reward? The peace, the strength, the deeper understanding of who I am and who God is—it’s worth every painful step.

So I’ll keep climbing, and healing. Because the summit? The summit is always worth it.