faith unfaded

I felt like I’d reached the mountaintop.
But it was only a random Tuesday.

There was no extraordinary announcement. No life-changing event. No sudden resolution to all the problems that had weighed so heavily on my heart.

I simply woke up happy.

Not just content. Not merely okay. For the second day in a row, I was genuinely excited about getting out of bed and beginning my day.

And I realized how long it had been since I’d felt that way.

It had been a difficult season. My mother’s death brought on a grief that changed the landscape of my life, including my biggest purpose. A couple of serious health issues left me physically depleted, and a renewed estrangement brought its own kind of heartache.

There were days when simply getting through the day felt like an accomplishment. Days when plans were canceled, responsibilities postponed, and the things I loved doing had to take a back seat to the things I needed to do.

But somewhere along the way, I learned something about mountains and valleys.

My faith journey had always been something like a zipline. It seemed like I’d stand in line for hours waiting to take the lift up the mountain. I’d enjoy the view for a half a second before plunging to the bottom and starting the arduous task all over again.

For all my complaints, I seemed to thrive in the extremes.

But then my life changed.

Plunging into the depths of despair was no longer an option. With age comes wisdom, not the least of which is realizing you’ve likely lived more life than you have left. I was determined to finally start living the life the Lord had designed for me.

I made some changes. First, I let go of the reins of control. Then I developed my prayer life. I listened to Christian music, feeding my mind with uplifting worship.

As discipline became a way of life, it was as if I were bubble-wrapping my joy in layers of protective seal. When the trials would come—as they invariably do—the pain was cushioned and the joy was protected.

But I was still in a season of loss, and of unanswered prayers.

Only this time it was different. I could hurt, while still feeling gratitude. I could be concerned over my health, while still knowing the Lord was in control.

And I could hold joy and pain, without the latter getting the microphone.

So as the sorrow began to subside and I physically began to heal, I realized my valley was no longer a cavernous pit. If anything, even my time of great need had been higher than the baseline of my past.

And that’s how the upward journey on a random Tuesday felt like a fast pass to the mountaintop.