You know those guys who lead mountain climbing expeditions up Mt. Everest? The ones who seem unstoppable, who go without oxygen and on whom you can trust your life? My husband could be one of those guys. That’s how he lives, like he’s got 6 extra hours in every day and nothing phases him. You think I do a lot? He can run circles around me (actually, back when we first tried running together, he literally would run circles around me. Not great for my self-esteem. Hence, we do not run together).
If I were on an expedition to Everest . . . well, I just probably would never do it. It sounds hard and cold and life-threatening, and I tend to avoid those three, certainly any combination of them. This is why I have my husband – he helps me keep climbing.
In coming back to Orlando after a wonderful summer in Minnesota and Colorado, I feel like I’m coming back to a mountain climbing expedition in the form of continued transition. Over the summer we had a glorious break from trying to figure out how to do life. Within 24 hours of getting here, I had this vague, overwhelmed, tired feeling and I realized, “Oh right, I was climbing this mountain.”
There’s no way around it. It’s the steep learning curve of finding our bearings. Transition can feel like that – you’re striving toward that place where it’s easy, where relationships are already formed, where routines are established, where you’ve got this, but you’re not there yet. You won’t get there if you just give up and stop climbing.
We’ve made a lot of progress in the right direction and I’m thankful. Still, even though we’ve been in the States for almost a year, this is our first fall in Orlando and it brings lots of new experiences to be conquered. We’re getting higher but we’re not done.
So I have to daily ask God for help to keep climbing, to put forth the effort to initiate, to seek out what we need, to face the areas where I still feel unsure, to keep engaging with our hearts. I know eventually we’ll get to a place where the terrain evens out a little and we can just enjoy the view for a little while. Until then, deep breath, one step at a time.
