Led Forth in Peace

Near the end of last year, our family accompanied my husband on a ministry trip to participate in two graduations. We traveled miles along dusty murram roads and, as we approached a land decorated with the Labwor Hills (these hills are known as inselbergs meaning “island mountains”), the car was filled with awe. We decided we would attempt to hike up one of these huge hills on our last day before heading home.

We spent a couple of very hot days sitting under the shade of worn tarps and joined the celebration of our students. The speakers were blasting to the point of sounding fuzzy, we enjoyed a delicious meal together, and the students’ dancing filled the air with dust like confetti. Their testimonies were filled with encouragement, and their joy was contagious. For each person, this was a mountaintop experience after perseverance and the many struggles they had to overcome during the months of classes. 

And then, the long-awaited morning (at least for my children) came early. After we tracked down our guide who served as the local leader for the area, we traveled through wild grass taller than our vehicle and toward the towering giant before us. Much to my dismay, the path we were assured of was nonexistent. It was very evident that this little hike would prove to be more challenging than we initially thought when we saw our guide begin his ascent by grabbing at the rock face and shrubs to keep his balance and a firm hold.

Watching my three children scramble up the mountainside like wild, little goats was fun, until I realized just how far up we had scaled the granite wall. It was at that point my heart rate began to increase and a not-so-mild state of panic really started to set in. While sitting to catch my breath, I took a moment to glance upon the view stretched out before me. My grip on the sparse, shrubby grass rooted in the rocky earth grew tighter.

There was no easy path to follow.

No clear footholds to use.

No signs to mark the trail.

No rope to hold tight to.

We did, however, have a guide. A guide who had climbed that rugged rock face hundreds of times before. When we needed to stop for water, he stopped. When we needed to catch our breath, he stopped.

He was with us, waiting until we were ready to move forward. He was also the one leading us, choosing the path of least resistance—one we could follow. He held out his hand, offering support to those he was leading. He made it his assignment that day to take us to the very top so we could admire the land he loved.

And yet, in those moments with my head dizzy as the ground below grew further and further away, I wasn’t at rest in my heart. My son interrupted my irrational inner thoughts when he pointed out a single white wildflower in full bloom. Standing tall and secure despite the thistles, wild grass, and rock face surrounding it. It bent in the breeze, remaining rooted to the sliver of soil, creviced between the large ash and slate stone. Thriving where the Lord had placed it, right there on that steep stone-covered hillside.

I was instantly reminded of all that the Lord has been whispering to me over the past number of years.

There is goodness in the hard places.

There is wonder to be found in the waiting.

There is peace even in uncertainty.

It was in that moment of pause that I noticed even more than the wildflower basking in the rays of the sun. There were vibrant shades of green growing all around me. There were bunches of wild grass, hearty shrubs, and leafy trees leaning sideways with their ruddy limbs outstretched—rooted deep into the foundation of this sloped mountainside. Reminders that there is so much growing in the wild and challenging places we find ourselves in.

Of course, we did in fact make it to the top without any injury or anyone rolling off. As I stood in awe, overlooking a breathtaking view of the lush valley below and other towering heights laid out before us, I was reminded of the beautiful imagery and promise found in Isaiah 55:12–13:

“You will go out in joy and be led forth in peace; the mountains and hills will burst into song before you, and all the trees of the field will clap their hands. Instead of the thorn bush will grow the juniper, and instead of briers the myrtle will grow. This will be for the Lord’s renown, for an everlasting sign, that will endure forever.” (NIV)

This is my prayer for the new year (and maybe it is for you too):

To remain evergreen, even in the hardest and most challenging places

To have the grace to grow well and discover beauty in the uncertainty

To root deep but be malleable enough to be transformed daily

And mostly, to be confident that wherever in the world the Lord has planted us, we can trust his faithfulness. Whether you’ve been recently transplanted in a new country, struggling with the challenges of ministry, serving your family faithfully in quiet ways, lingering in the wilderness of waiting, or anywhere else you find yourself—the Lord goes before you and will lead you in a peace that surpasses all understanding. He will even transform the hard and challenging places of our lives into lands flourishing with trees evergreen.

Where do you see the Lord leading you, even in a small way, today? What can you do to remain evergreen and growing despite the challenges or hardships you may be currently facing?