A mountain stands before me, daunting in its height, grandness, and permanence. I do not want to climb it; yet, He has asked me to. In protest, my feet remain planted on the ground as I begin my search for continued security, for hand holds. The desire for remaining in safety claims years of my life, and my feet have established a worn path around the base of my fear—this mountain.

“I’m just considering all of my options.”

“I need to be adequately prepared for what may be ahead.”

“I can’t let Him down.”

Each thought is clothed in a thin layer of hope. When tossed against the reality of the mount, each one is torn to shreds. What remains is the five-foot three girl who cannot seem to place her feet on His promised land.

With a final glance at the rut beneath me, I whisper, “God, will you help me? I can’t climb this mountain of faith without you.”