I went to bed giddy, like a child does the night before their birthday or on Christmas Eve. Much like they are excited in anticipation of the gifts that await them to unwrap early the morning following; I was excited about the journey I was embarking upon after I concluded my evening slumber. I awoke with a childlike bounce the following morning, adrenaline pumping in my veins, fueling my appetite for what the day had in store and I promise you it was more than I could have ever expected.
My first hike of my 40th year on my birthday awaited. The mountains were calling; God was calling, too. And, so was my husband, Cory, as he packed our bags, some snacks for a small picnic lunch and our kids into the van for morning school drop off. Our adventure awaited, but first, parenting duties were required. The kids could feel the anticipation in the air and reminded us that they wanted to be the first to hear all about the hike afterschool. And, my youngest, Luke, made me promise he could go on the next hike. Promises were made and drop off was complete. The mountains were now our destination.
Cory and I began the hour-and-a-half trek to my first hike of my birthday year and our favorite hiking spot in Kentucky: the Red River Gorge. Our boots already sported mud from the earth in the Appalachian Mountains from previous trips. They, too, were begging to go back as much as we were.
The Red River Gorge had become a home away from home for us; a peaceful respite that our souls longed to be reunited with several times each year if possible. We had previously stayed in a treehouse with our kids in their mountains. We celebrated anniversaries and birthdays in log cabins there. We listened to the screams of zipliners out a cabin’s backdoor with friends before and enjoyed roasted marshmallows in fire pits under the forest’s protection. I wrote two books there and walked with the Lord along its trails many times. While my feet love the sand, my heart lives in the mountains.
There was no better place to begin my pilgrimage than the mountains that had been my safe place to land time and time before. God lived among those trees. He could be found singing amongst the Cardinal birds and in the wind that made the Kentucky wildflowers sway each spring. I had seen Him in the eyes of my littles when we danced in waterfalls and ran from a snake enjoying a salamander snack once. And during one of the hardest times of my life—a time when I was meandering in a deep and uncomfortable depression—God healed my heart there. He had always met me at the Gorge; He would this day, too.
Knowing I’d just sweat it off anyway, I opted for a natural birthday look free of makeup and sported a messy knot of hair on the top of my head. That look, paired with my new walking sticks, backpack filled with water I could slurp anytime I wanted and a new Apple Watch my dad gifted me, meant I was ready for the first of my forty hikes.
It was time. I was ready. And so was God.
On the ride down, Cory and I uncovered the place we wanted to visit in the Gorge but hadn’t confirmed which hike we’d take. There were oodles of choices. I had previously chosen the Indian Staircase trail to traverse… that is until I looked at a photo from an experienced hiker who left caution to forthcoming hikers. When someone who had conquered the hike (and looked like hike conquering was small potatoes for them) said it was challenging and possibly deadly, I gripped the steering wheel white-knuckled, questioning my original plan. I whispered to Cory that maybe I’d leave the more questionable hikes for later in the year when my body had muscles of steel and a heart dead set for risky adventures. Today, I wanted to live to tell my tale.
We made a pivot and opted to visit our tried-and-true; a beautiful and still strenuous hike to the Natural Bridge, a point of conquering for me over the years. The first time I hiked to it, I had more confidence in my head than my body did. We were hiking on my birthday then, too, and another couple joined us. My friend had voiced his concerns walking across this stone bridge without rails. He wasn’t sure his nerves could handle it. Me (the gal with a crazy fear of heights) poured confidence in him as we inched closer and closer to the Natural Bridge. However, when we arrived, the tables turned. He wasn’t just comfortable walking across it; he got to the edge nearly giving me a heart attack. Me, on the other hand, found my tail between my wobbly legs. I couldn’t convince my legs to even take one step. I decided I would find a shady place to sit on top of the mountain and have my husband and two friends finish the hike. They could just pick me up on the other side, I had determined. Figuring my rationale was convincing enough, I had found a clean rock to make my home for a bit. But they weren’t having it. Instead, they had another plan. That day, with my husband’s arm locked in my left arm and my friend’s arm locked in my right, I closed my eyes and let two people I trusted guide me across the scariest of situations.
I made it, with the help of others, that day. And, in truth, isn’t that a daily walk we take with the Lord, too? In retrospect, I’m keenly aware of the foreshadowing of God for the hikes we were about to do together… hand-in-hand, arm-in-arm, in lockstep as one.
While the Natural Bridge was our end destination, Cory and I opted for a longer and more challenging path to get there. Instead of taking the usual hike up, I wanted to push myself and take the trail path that had lots of stone steps built into it. I had sweated out much worry a year or two prior on that staircase on this particular hike. I was ready to do it again. Plus, I felt God calling me to dig into a Scripture passage that had captured me a year or so prior. During my first hike, God had something to show me in Genesis 28:10-22 where Jacob had a life-changing dream and saw the staircase to heaven.
What a perfect connection to the staircase I wanted to conquer. And a meaningful message to learn from Jacob’s journey in the process.
Sharing the Weight
As a kid growing up going to a Catholic school and attending Mass weekly, I had heard bits and pieces of Jacob’s life. But, if I’m being honest, what I remember most is the string trick I would do to create Jacob’s ladder over the Scripture reference itself. It wasn’t until my family and I attempted to read the Bible front to back in a year (not yet completing, mind you) that I discovered the beauty of Jacob’s journey and his potential connection to my own life. Now it was time for me to uncover just what that connection really was.
Jacob left Beersheba and set out for Harran. When he reached a certain place, he stopped for the night because the sun had set. Taking one of the stones there, he put it under his head and lay down to sleep. He had a dream in which he saw a stairway resting on the earth, with its top reaching to heaven, and the angels of God were ascending and descending on it. There above it stood the Lord, and he said: “I am the Lord, the God of your father Abraham and the God of Isaac. I will give you and your descendants the land on which you are lying. Your descendants will be like the dust of the earth, and you will spread out to the west and to the east, to the north and to the south. All peoples on earth will be blessed through you and your offspring. I am with you and will watch over you wherever you go, and I will bring you back to this land. I will not leave you until I have done what I have promised you.”
When Jacob awoke from his sleep, he thought, “Surely the Lord is in this place, and I was not aware of it.” He was afraid and said, “How awesome is this place! This is none other than the house of God; this is the gate of heaven.” Early the next morning Jacob took the stone he had placed under his head and set it up as a pillar and poured oil on top of it. He called that place Bethel, though the city used to be called Luz.
Then Jacob made a vow, saying, “If God will be with me and will watch over me on this journey I am taking and will give me food to eat and clothes to wear so that I return safely to my father’s household, then the Lord will be my God and this stone that I have set up as a pillar will be God’s house, and of all that you give me I will give you a tenth.”
Genesis 28:10-22
Cory and I read the passage together that morning on our peaceful drive out of the city and into rural Kentucky, letting each word simmer as if it were cherished like gold or another precious commodity. God had called me to this passage for a reason, and I was determined to know why. What, God, are you trying to teach me? I didn’t know yet; but when we pulled up to the parking lot we’ve visited many times prior and laced our boots, I was ready to find out.
In tow, we had our phones/watches tracking our route, enough water to keep us hydrated, some snacks Cory packed, two walking sticks and a bag of 40 rocks my friend gifted me the day prior. Leave something behind on your hikes, Stephanie. That was my charge, and I grabbed a red acrylic marker perfectly made for rock writing and perfect for this hike at the Red River Gorge to accompany the extra weight I wanted to carry. I already carried more mental weight than I’d like (and physical weight, too) but I wanted the symbolic weight shift over the year as I left rocks behind. I wanted to be lighter in all ways!
The only problem was, the week before I had endured a breast biopsy. A month-long journey of uncertainty had been heavily lurking over my family. I had personally experienced how one call can stop life and one call can restart it. It stopped mine when the woman on the other end of the phone stated that my recent mammogram and ultrasound had discovered a mass. It restarted my life just days before when I received a call post-biopsy that my results were benign. I hadn’t realized I’d been holding my breath for four weeks for fear of getting news I wasn’t ready to hear. My shallow breathing deepened again as I took a long sigh of relief. The biopsy, though praise God was benign, was still healing and the bag I brought to carry my rocks landed right near the bruised remnants of my breast cancer scare. Cory, I timidly said. Would you mind carrying my 39 other rocks in your backpack and I’ll carry today’s? I knew I wanted to carry these rocks with me, but I also was deeply aware that on that day, I couldn’t do the heavy lifting. Without question, he unzipped his army green L.L.Bean backpack that held many hiking memories and lifted the weight from my shoulders and graciously invited it to his.
I smiled, realizing the weight of my cancer scare was hard for him, too. And yet, it was a worry he couldn’t fully carry. I was the one in the mammogram machines, feeling exposed and weary. I was the one having ultrasounds, not excited to see a baby growing; instead, fearing what else may be growing within me that could change everything. I was the one who endured the biopsy on my body. While he was in the waiting room, praying hard, I was in the room being poked and prodded, praying hard as well.
He couldn’t carry that weight; but he was happy to carry this part for me. And reluctantly, I let him.
The Crocs
The trail we planned to hike began about a half-mile into the forest. There, several trails converged. The “easy” trail is an uphill battle to Natural Bridge. “Easy,” in my opinion, was only because it’s the shortest route, not because the trek was a breeze. No flat terrain was found there; it’s a mountain and that hike was an uphill battle. None of the trails to the destination are really easy but some were less challenging than others.
At the fork in the trail, we turned left, with the hopes of challenging our thighs with the endless rocky staircase, a symbolic opportunity to reflect on Jacob’s ladder, the ascending and descending of angels to and from heaven. I knew this path and while it wasn’t easy, it was known. And I like known. However, despite the peaceful calling the purple wildflowers spoke at the beginning of this fork in the trail, the trail had yellow tape roping it off. For whatever reason, it was closed. No through hiking traffic allowed.
My Indian Staircase hike was a no-go, and now this one. I was working hard to not let Satan win, but I was frustrated. I had plans and each kept getting their bubbles popped. Cory pulled out his hiking app to see what other options were around and I people-watched. A couple was resting at a nature area while another was determined to conquer the easy trail. As Cory found a detour, a fork that took us to our destination but also to a new area we hadn’t hiked before, he whispered a notable fact about one of the couples we had passed. He was hiking in crocs.
If you’ve ever been hiking even just once you’ll know that crocs have a place and hiking in the mountains isn’t it. Outside of spider bites and other creepy crawlies, there is no foot support provided by the foam slip-ons. We were giggling about this when the couple made their way on the hike from behind us, murmuring how they weren’t prepared for the strenuousness of this hike. It’s not an easy one, I said. And how in the world are you doing it in crocs?! Wandering minds (myself included) wanted to know.
It’s funny how a single conversation can be the beginning of a new friendship. Sometimes we halt the nudge to say something to someone when we feel it; other times, we can’t hold it back. A rawness shows up in me in the mountains, and I was curious why in the world he had chosen those as his shoe selection that day.
As Cory and I hiked a bit farther to find the offshoot for the Battleship Rock trail we were taking to the Natural Bridge, we learned a lot about the couple who chose poor footwear. From Michigan, they were on a trip to Nashville for a concert and decided to stop at the Red River Gorge to see what their landscape can’t compare to. The husband’s eyes widened as he spoke of the beauty we have in our backyard. He hadn’t seen lush like he was experiencing that day. The two of them had traveled to many cool spots (including a place in California that the husband confidently shared he found natural jade stones, something he always wanted since his name was Jade), but none of them compared to the beauty so many Kentuckians take for granted, myself included.
He loved his crocs and his tattoos. After saving his wife from a tick that had landed on her shoulder during one of our mini breaks, I told Jade he had a spider on his back leg. Spooked for just a moment, he humored me with my bad joke, noting the spider tattoo he had there instead. Snakes are scared of spiders, he said. That tattoo keeps them away. Unsure of its truth, I wasn’t going to let it keep me away from a deeper conversation with him; one I felt a God nudge on.
Are you a believer?, I asked him during the final break we had together before our paths separated. On your arm you have a tattoo of a cross. Do you believe in Jesus? Before he went running for a new hill and after he confirmed that the tattoo was in honor of his grandma who was a believer, I told him about how amazing the Natural Bridge is. When you get to the top, I shared, knowing we wouldn’t be there at the same time. Look at the stone itself. There’s lots of sand, proof that one day all of this was underwater. A reminder of how powerful and amazing our God is.
With that, we wished each other well and waved bye. I hadn’t yet reflected on Genesis 28 but I knew that our meeting of Jade and his wife, Bri, wasn’t by chance. It was by God’s choice.
On the Run
Jade and Bri went right as Cory and I went left. I knew what was in store if we hiked right: a path upward to a beautiful landscape of the Kentucky mountains. I hadn’t a clue what we’d find on the path to the left, but I was ready. And, I was ready to hear what the Lord wanted to teach me in Jacob’s Dream. As Cory and I purposefully walked through beautiful spring terrain, complete with purple and white flowers in our views, we reflected on what we knew about Jacob prior to the dream he had in Genesis 28 and what we knew about ourselves.
Jacob was on the run.
And he wasn’t just running from anyone; he was running from his brother Esau. In prior Scripture passages, we learn how Jacob, with his mother’s help, had tricked his father, Isaac, into giving him the family blessing that was supposed to go to his brother instead. Rebekah wanted her son to have the blessing and was willing to take whatever wrath came from the betrayal, however when Esau learned of his brother’s deceit, he held a grudge that terrified Jacob.
In Genesis 27:41, Esau says to himself: “The days of mourning for my father are near; then I will kill my brother Jacob.” Jacob’s fears were real and Rebekah encouraged Jacob to run to her brother, Laban, in Harran. In Genesis 27:44-45 she says: “Stay with [Laban] for a while until your brother’s fury subsides. When your brother is no longer angry with you and forgets what you did to him, I’ll send word for you to come back from there. Why should I lose both of you in one day?”
So, Jacob leaves Beersheba and begins his run to Harran.
While I wasn’t running in the hills that day, I understood in some small way what Jacob must have been feeling in those moments. One sermon Cory and I listened to on the way to the hike acknowledged that Jacob was likely feeling regret from his past mistakes, engulfed in loneliness in his present situations and uncertain about what the future would hold. I, too, was there.
My past felt heavy. I didn’t have a troubled history, but instead, I had one that was filled with joy and excitement. The woman I was just a few years prior was someone I longed to still know. She was able to meet deadlines, exceed expectations, perform flawlessly, positively infect a room and bring light to others. I felt like many women do when they look at photos from their highschool years thinking: Man, I wish I realized how good I looked in that bathing suit then so I would have appreciated it more. Prior to the diagnosis of my chronic illness, life seemed to come so easy to me. Now, it was downright challenging.
I didn’t realize what I had. Most of us don’t until it’s gone.
I wasn’t intentionally running from my past. Instead, my past ran from me. The girl I knew felt like a distant memory at best. I was grieving for her and what she could do. Now, I feel like just a mere shell of her existence. I missed her terribly: her predictability, her spontaneity, her passion for life and her willingness to do all things. I wanted her back.
But you can’t go back, I was reminded. All we have now is the present and the future, and, like Jacob, my present felt lonely. Even with people alongside me—and my husband walking in lockstep with me—I felt like no one understood what was happening within me. My chronic illness of idiopathic hypersomnia (and presents in many ways like narcolepsy) is so misunderstood and made fun of. Thanks Hollywood. Over the last few years navigating what has been many days downright debilitating, I have experienced not kind notes from others with judgment and frustration. Whether other people meant it or not, I was constantly carrying with me a heavy weight of false narratives that felt so true to me… ones that said I was lazy, incapable, a failure to name a few. And these narratives made me lonely.
Jacob was alone on his run, and I felt alone on mine, too.
The future, for me, felt foggy, like looking through my windshield on an early spring morning as I drove down our country road before the rest of the world woke up. The hills are sometimes not even visible from the dense layer of fog that hovers over the earth. While pretty amidst a rural landscape as the sun peeks over the horizon, that fog can be frightening if it’s in the late evening when everything is already pitch black. My future fog was like the latter: heavy, confusing and uncertain. I, too, wasn’t sure of my next step.
My identity felt wrapped up in being a business owner. But I wear other hats. I’m a mom and a wife, a daughter and a friend. I co-founded a women’s retreat ministry and also love gardening, books and all things cats. I had faced uncertain futures before—I’ve experienced job loss, loss of loved ones, let downs and hurt. But this uncertain future felt extra uncertain. And I’m sure Jacob’s did too. Maybe yours does as well.
But God showed up in Jacob’s in between—in the loneliness he felt between his frustrated and regretful past and his completely uncertain future—and I know he shows up in ours. That day, he showed up in mine.
Certain Places
When my grandma passed away in 2010, Cardinal birds started following me. A year or two prior, when my Papaw passed away, the number 23 became a constant in my life, too. Now, when that number comes up—in hotel rooms, street signs, Scripture passages and more—I listen. And, when Cardinal birds chirp, you’ll find me looking like a crazed and confused person staring into the sky looking everywhere to see her.
I call these God winks, little messages from the thin veil between this world and the next. And as the years go on, I have become accustomed to noticing when God winks appear and when I need to take a moment to listen. A new God wink had emerged just months prior to this hike, so I wasn’t surprised when the Scripture passage selected had it written within it, too.
A few months prior, I was preparing for a women’s retreat on prayer. My retreat co-founder, Shannon, and I were in deep prayer together that the Lord would show to us what He wanted to show to the women who were coming. I felt a deep longing to study Luke 11 when the disciples asked Jesus to teach them how to pray. I knew the outcome of that request: The Lord’s Prayer, a beautiful template for any and all prayers. But I hadn’t expected to get hung up on the verse prior to Jesus’s teaching: “One day Jesus was praying in a certain place. When he finished, one of his disciples said to him, “Lord, teach us to pray, just as John taught his disciples.” (Luke 11:1)
A certain place. I became enamored with that phrase in Scripture and went down a rabbit trail trying to learn of where Jesus was when he went to pray. Fortunately and unfortunately, I never found the specific location. But the more I studied the more I realized that Jesus’s specific location isn’t what mattered; what mattered was that he had a specific location. Jesus could pray in any location, and while he did, he also had certain places.
Certain places, to me, are intentional. They are deliberate. They are thought about and cared for. One of my certain places is my war room in my bedroom closet where I spend time with God each morning. Another one of my certain places is the Red River Gorge, hiking in the mountains. No wonder God called me to do 40 hikes; He knew I’d show up because they are our certain places.
And, in Genesis 28:11, God found Jacob in his certain place. “When [Jacob] reached a certain place, he stopped for the night because the sun had set. Taking one of the stones there, he put it under his head and lay down to sleep.”
As Cory and I trudged through our hike, we reflected together on what Jacob’s certain place was in comparison to mine and to Jesus’s. Jesus’s certain place was one that his closest friends knew was sacred and important. My certain place was in a small room, hidden from the world. And, my certain place in the mountains was also hidden; there I wasn’t exposed to the elements like Jacob’s certain place likely was. In fact, I reflected on how exposed Jacob’s certain place could have been. Was it desert land, bear and naked, exposed to all? Scripture doesn’t tell us that he went into a cave. Instead, when the sun had set, he stopped at his certain place.
I envision Jacob in the middle of flat terrain, running from his brother and yet reaching a certain place where he felt safe enough to rest, enter into a deep sleep and meet God. As a man on the run, I would have suspected his certain place would have been a hidden one; a place where he could have felt safe for the evening to rest. Instead, Scripture reaffirmed what God has been teaching me: certain places have no earthly boundaries. Instead, certain places are sacred and safe spaces. Certain places offer divine embraces and endless grace. You know you’ve found a certain place when you can pull up a stone—a heavy weight you’ve been carrying—and rest.
In my certain place, God and I have worked through many hardships. In Jesus’s certain place, Him and God prepared for what was to come, together. And in Jacob’s certain place, God gifted him comfort and peace. If you have a certain place, friend, I promise you God will be there for you, too.
A shift happens in certain places; it’s where you trade in your uncertainty for God’s certainty. It’s where you give up needing to know and trust that God already knows. It’s the place of transition where you rest in Him and allow God to carry the weight from the past and the worries of the present and future. It’s where all of God’s promises are found.
The Ladder and Our Legacy
There, in the dark of night in an exposed place while Jacob was on the run, he met God in a dream.
He had a dream in which he saw a stairway resting on the earth, with its top reaching to heaven, and the angels of God were ascending and descending on it. There above it stood the Lord, and he said: “I am the Lord, the God of your father Abraham and the God of Isaac. I will give you and your descendants the land on which you are lying. Your descendants will be like the dust of the earth, and you will spread out to the west and to the east, to the north and to the south. All peoples on earth will be blessed through you and your offspring. I am with you and will watch over you wherever you go, and I will bring you back to this land. I will not leave you until I have done what I have promised you.” (Genesis 28:11-15)
Years prior to my hike, I met Jesus in the middle of the night in my bedroom. In the darkness of my days when my chronic illness was unknown I had just been released from a 6-day stay in the hospital for epilepsy observation. In fact, it was more than observations; during that time doctors did everything they could to induce a seizure. It is stuff of nightmares, friends, and something I don’t want to endure again. This particular evening was my first night home from the hospital and my first night in our new home as a family. And, to top it off, I was preparing for an opportunity of a lifetime the next day. I was a part of a women’s retreat; something I had prayed hard for. And while I was excited, I was also immensely overwhelmed.
There, in my certain place, I cried out for help. Not having the energy or words to form a beautifully poetic prayer, I spoke in my heart the simplest of prayers I’ve ever prayed: Lord, please be with me. Don’t leave me. Help. Immediately, a calling within me encouraged me to open my eyes and when I did, I saw Jesus. His silhouette filled up the corner of my bedroom and He spoke something I’ve carried with me ever since: But I’ve never left you. And He didn’t. All night, as I fell in and out of sleep, He remained steadfast in my room, watching over me then and always.
God shared the same message to Jacob centuries prior to my Jesus encounter. “I am with you and will watch over you wherever you go, and I will bring you back to this land. I will not leave you until I have done what I have promised you.” (Genesis 28:15) Our God is the same God then, today and forever. His promises remain strong and His Truth is supreme. He meets us in our certain places, in moments of transition and challenge. He met Abraham in Genesis 15 when He promised descendents as numerous as the stars. He met Jacob while on the run, assuring him that his future would be fruitful. And He met me when I was in a pivotal transition moment in my life’s calling.
When scholars reflect on Jacob’s Dream, many talk about the part where angels ascended and descended to heaven and earth. Some talk about it like a staircase; others reference it like an escalator. And while I love the picture that it paints of how intentional and present our Lord is, I found myself more focused on the promise God made.
“I am the Lord, the God of your father Abraham and the God of Isaac. I will give you and your descendants the land on which you are lying. Your descendants will be like the dust of the earth, and you will spread out to the west and to the east, to the north and to the south. All peoples on earth will be blessed through you and your offspring.”
Genesis 28:13-14
We are a people focused on legacy. Whether we are looking to bequeath an inheritance, sow seeds into our children or leave the world better than we found it, we all want to know that our time here had purpose. We want to know we made a difference. We want to feel like we matter. And yet, in my rawness that day walking in the mountains, I was reminded that while I matter, God matters more.
Legacy isn’t about me, it’s about Him. For God to get through to Jacob, He needed Jacob to hit rock bottom so He could transform him. For God to get through to many people in Scripture, they too needed to fall flat on their face. And for God to get through to me, I needed to feel like I couldn’t carry anymore weight so I would finally give up the weight I had decided I could carry on my own. God met Abraham and Jacob in times when they were leaving what they knew to go down a new path. And as Cory and I saw the sun shining through the mountains, I realized God was meeting me on a new path as well.
Our forest hikes are usually shaded by tall, confident trees that hold the Holy Spirit’s whistle as the winds brush through the leaves. But ahead, Cory and I saw unfamiliar light. I expected we had made it to the top of the mountain, but instead, we found ourselves in a hidden meadow. Beautiful in all ways, I felt like we were in a Disney movie where every detail had been belabored and methodically retouched. Green surrounded us and purple dots of color made it feel like we were in a secret painting that God was actively working on. It was breathtaking.
As I looked closer, however, I began to uncover what made this meadow different from others I’d seen. Within it were micro hills where green rolled like it down Kentucky bluegrass hills that, upon closer look, were because of stones. Boulders of all shapes and sizes were resting on God’s earth, but above the boulders were grass, flowers and buzzy life. How is that possible?! No soil was present. And then, like one of the rocks flew up and hit me upside the head, I realized God’s message.
Growth is possible anywhere, even on top of stones.
I carried one small stone for this hike and Cory was carrying 39 others. But beyond that, I carried much, much more weight. My internal stones were heavy and filled with words that God wouldn’t want someone to call His daughter, ever. That moment, God reminded me that stones are porous even if they seem solid. They may be hard to move but growth can happen on top of them. In fact, because of what we went through, we can grow taller than we ever could before. With God.
When Jacob awoke from his sleep, he thought, “Surely the Lord is in this place, and I was not aware of it.” He was afraid and said, “How awesome is this place! This is none other than the house of God; this is the gate of heaven.” (Genesis 28:16-17)
I understood Jacob’s realization. Yes, surely God was in this place. And in all places, even though I’m not always aware of it. This was the house of God and the gate of heaven.
The Honeymooners
After hiking up a manmade staircase chiseled out from the rock in the mountainside, Cory and I did in fact make it to the plateau before the final ascent to the Natural Bridge. We paused to get our bearings and met a couple, Reggie and Beverly, who were on their honeymoon. Once they shared that they had visited The Ark, a life-sized version of Moses’ calling, I felt God tugging at me to tell them of the pilgrimage I was embarking upon that day.
I’m on the first of my forty hikes, I shared. God and I have lots to talk about and I’m excited to see what’s in store.
Beverly’s eyes twinkled like my grandmas’ used to. As I told her of my hike thus far and of my breast cancer scare and my newfound love of watercolor painting as a tool for navigating worry, I could see that she, too, was on a pilgrimage of sorts. Once I opened up a bit I learned of her artist background and how she and Reggie had met, late in life, in an unexpected but divinely appointed way. Their wedding day was brought with an unexpected trip to the hospital for Reggie, postponing their celebrations but I knew immediately that God used it so that we could meet and connect like we did.
As I spoke with Beverly about life, Cory and Reggie chatted about sports, one of Cory’s favorite topics of conversations. We laughed about the two snakes Cory and I had found already on the hike and teared up talking about how God moves in all stages and phases of life. It felt like a reunion of friends who had known the depths of each other for decades, not a meeting of four people for the first time. Our conversation was reaffirming and life-giving. And, God-centered.
Cory told me later that the Lord gave him a nudge. At first he tried to overlook it but the nudge was too strong. He couldn’t. As our chat came to a close and our hike was ready to pick back up, Cory asked if he could pray with us and together, with a divine embrace in God’s certain place, we prayed as one.
I don’t remember the prayers Cory spoke, but I remember feeling at peace in the mountains with my brother and sister in Christ alongside my husband. I remember feeling comfortable in my present and less worried about my future. I remember having a deep knowing that I was exactly where I was supposed to be when I was supposed to be there. And God was proud.
Moving of Mountains
I made it over the Natural Bridge with confidence, something I didn’t have just a few years prior when I attempted the hike the first time. My first attempt required the support from others; this time, it was only God’s support I needed. My husband and I weaved through the mountaintop trail, making it to our favorite spot on the trail, a flat, exposed cliffview, allowing us to sit close to an edge and soak in the beautiful Appalachian hills and valleys.
There was where I wanted to leave my first rock.
Cory pulled out the snacks he had made, and while eating an apple and a tortilla wrap with peanut butter, I reflected on all God had shown me in just a few hours in the mountains. What did God want me to leave behind? What weight was He ready to remove from my shoulders and carry on my behalf? The answer came quickly as did the Scripture quote associated with it.
On one side of the smooth rock I was carrying I wrote: “I am with you and will watch over you wherever you go…” (Genesis 28:15). On the other side I wrote one word that summed up a pact I made with our Maker that day.
Uncertainty.
There, on the side of a cliff in the Red River Gorge I tucked away a rock as a symbol of my attempt to let go of uncertainty and replace that hole in my life with the certainty that God’s got this. Like Jacob, I wanted to give up my worry for the future and know that God’s going to make a way. He always has and He always does.
Early the next morning Jacob took the stone he had placed under his head and set it up as a pillar and poured oil on top of it. He called that place Bethel, though the city used to be called Luz.
Then Jacob made a vow, saying, “If God will be with me and will watch over me on this journey I am taking and will give me food to eat and clothes to wear so that I return safely to my father’s household, then the Lord will be my God and this stone that I have set up as a pillar will be God’s house, and of all that you give me I will give you a tenth.” (Genesis 28:18-22)
Jacob’s point of uncertainty became a sacred place of his transformation. The city of Luz (a Canaanite pagan city) became the city of Bethel (which means “the house of God”). As I reflected on what I was looking to give up (uncertainty), I was reminded of the transformation it would take and the surrender God requested of me. Much like the pivot of the city of Luz to Bethel, I could see a pivot continuing in me from a dark place to a holy place.
That’s how God moves mountains. One stone at a time. One step at a time. One surrender at a time. One hike at a time.
