Climbing the Mountain: Trusting God When the Goal Feels Far Away
I remember my first writing conference in Portland. I didn’t know anyone there, and I didn’t feel I belonged. But I had this quiet ache that had lived in me for a long time—the desire to write. Not just journal entries I kept to myself, but real books. Stories that mattered. Stories that could change people, maybe even heal them.
It was the first time I ever said it out loud: I’m a writer.
I had to push the words out of my mouth. They felt heavy and audacious. Who was I to claim that title? But I said them anyway. And somehow, in that act of naming the dream, something shifted. I could feel God with me—whispering encouragement, nudging me forward, gently saying, Keep going. I’m in this with you.
That was ten years ago.
Since then, I’ve published six books and contributed to even more. I’ve met readers who’ve resonated with my words. I’ve built a life around writing—and yet, I still feel like I’m just getting started.
Looking back, I can see that trusting God with this dream didn’t mean having a ten-year plan or even a clear sense of what came next. Trust looked like surrender. Letting go of the idea that I was in control. Releasing the pressure to know everything, and instead, just doing the next right thing. One step up the mountain. Then another.
There were signs along the way—little breadcrumbs that let me know I was not alone. A mentor showing up at exactly the right time. A serendipitous lunch companion who spoke the words I needed to hear. Encouragement from someone I deeply respected. These moments weren’t flashy or loud. They were quiet confirmations, like God whispering again, See? I’m still here.
Of course, there were also long stretches of doubt. Seasons when I questioned whether I was any good, whether the path I was on was leading anywhere at all. There were moments I pulled back, unsure if I could keep climbing. But God, in her steadfastness, always found a way to draw me back in. A door would open. An invitation would come. A new idea would spark. Just enough light for the next step.
I’ve learned that the climb is rarely fast or easy. But it is sacred. And over time, I’ve discovered a kind of patience in myself I didn’t know I had. A steadiness. A growing trust that I am not climbing alone.
If you’re in a season where the dream feels far away, or the goal feels too high to reach, I want to offer this: rest before you quit. Sometimes the weariness skews everything, and what you need isn’t to give up, but to breathe. Sleep. Walk. Pray. Cry. Let the dust settle before you decide what’s next. Then, when you’re rested, ask yourself again: What’s the next right step?
The older I get, the more I trust God’s plan for my life—not because everything has gone perfectly, but because I can look back and see her goodness woven through every season. Even the hard ones. Even the ones I didn’t understand at the time.
To trust God is to keep climbing, even when the summit is hidden in fog. It’s to believe that love walks with us. That the journey matters as much as the destination. That our small steps are enough.
And so I leave you with these words from Julian of Norwich, a woman of deep faith and fierce hope:
“All shall be well, and all shall be well, and all manner of things shall be well.”
Even on the climb.
Even when the dream feels distant.
Even when you can only see the next step.
Exciting news! My serial novel, Cascading Courage, has launched. This dual-timeline story unfolds between the 1990s and 1930s, weaving together themes of friendship and the fight for justice. It will be released in 40 weekly installments on Mondays between February and the end of 2025. The first chapters have already been published, but you can join anytime by upgrading your subscription and catching up in the archives, ensuring you don’t miss anything.
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May the peace of the Lord Christ go with you wherever he may send you; may he guide you through the wilderness; protect you through the storm; may he bring you home rejoicing at the wonders he has shown you; may he bring you home rejoicing: once again into our doors.
The summit is always in fog because God likes a little drama. If she gave us the whole map, we’d start negotiating shortcuts.
But bless you for naming the ache, that sacred itch that says, “Hey, you’re not crazy, you’re just called.” And yes, claiming your title before the world confirms it? That’s not arrogance, that’s prophecy.
Trust isn’t knowing where the trail leads. It’s packing snacks anyway.
Keep climbing, saint of the scribbled word.
Yay for the shrouded mountain ascent!! Love the wisdom from Julian that helps with the climb. 🏔️