Climbing the mountain of the Lord
Advent is upon us. I’ve always been an “I’ll start that tomorrow” kind of person. I love making plans and setting high goals—dreaming big and looking ahead to all the possibilities. I can spend forever in the planning stage, getting everything just right. And my approach to Advent is no different. When my friend Mary picked a book, I was all in. Yes, I thought, a book is exactly what I need to get myself back on track. We cleaned the house, pulled out the wreath, and set up the living and dining rooms for the season. The space is ready, the plan is set… and now comes the hard part: actually implementing the plan…and sticking with it.
The introduction to our Advent book highlighted something Mary is always gently nudging me toward: be still. I like to think I’ve gotten better at this, but I still fall into old habits. Life gets loud, stressful, and fast, and I find myself seeking comfort in distractions. When I finally stop, it’s uncomfortable. My mind is so used to running in high gear that I don’t notice what it’s doing to me until I crash.
I’m absolutely an extrovert. I’m fueled by social interactions and relationships. I love being with others, tending to others. My work with children is a full day of problem-solving, emotional ups and downs, and constant movement—and honestly, I love it. I’d hate a day without that energy. Doing is natural for me. And because there’s always something to do or someone to care for, caring for myself gets pushed aside… until I can’t push anymore.
Right before Advent, I had one of those crashing moments. An embarrassing, uncomfortable realization that I had let everything pile up until even the littlest things set me off. I felt flooded by irrational, trivial feelings. I felt like I had tumbled right back to the bottom. And though I’ve worked hard to value myself—my gifts, my strengths—sometimes I just can’t hold onto that. Sometimes I get stuck. Stuck in doubt, in self-pity, in the fear that I don’t have enough to give.
Today the phrase “the mountain of the Lord” stood out to me, because that’s exactly how it feels. I’m at the bottom, looking up at this mountain I need to climb in order to be where He is. Sitting still feels hard. Waiting in silence feels painful. My mind keeps spinning, unable right now to fully grasp the peace He offers so freely. Self-doubt whispers that it’s pointless to sit in silence if I don’t feel anything. I fall into the lie that doing is better. But the doing that’s needed is inward.
The mountain is within. He’s calling me to climb out of myself and simply be with Him. Somehow it sounds simple when I write it, yet I feel paralyzed with fear at the thought of it.
Then I thought about the Virgin Mary’s journey to Bethlehem—also an uphill climb. From Nazareth up to a mountain town 2,550 feet above sea level. How must she have felt as they ascended, Jesus growing within her? Joseph leading a donkey through the cold, trusting this was the way. Oh, to have that kind of faith—to do hard things with quiet hope that God’s got this, no matter how uncertain or frustrating it may be.
My life right now is nowhere near as chaotic as what they faced. So I’m setting my mind to push away the doubts and frustrations and to truly climb this mountain. I want to spend this time journeying with Jesus. To ascend toward the mountain of the Lord—a sacred place where, though unworthy, I am invited to seek Him. A place where God’s law is given, where His will is enacted, and where His peace reigns. A future where all will seek Him.
I’m starting this Advent with big hopes, but also with honesty: I’m beginning at the bottom. The only way is up. And I want to keep climbing—through the lively moments and the stillness—as I deepen my relationship with Him.
“Come, let us go up to the mountain of the Lord,
to the house of the God of Jacob.
He will teach us his ways,
so that we may walk in his paths.” Isaiah 2:3
What do I want my relationship with Jesus to look like by the end of this Advent season?
What practical rhythms can help me climb “the mountain within”—silence, Scripture, prayer, rest, gratitude, or something else?
What is one small, doable step I can take today toward being with Him, not just doing for Him?
