Higher Ground

I remember it like it was yesterday. My dad stood above me, his hand outstretched, urging me on. Only a few yards of a smooth granite slab separated us—the final stretch of a 350-foot alpine face on Longs Peak. At over 14,000 feet, every step felt impossible. My head spun, my stomach churned, and I wasn't sure I could take another step.

In that moment of desperation, Psalm 121 came flooding back. That's the beauty of hiding God's Word in our hearts. It often speaks when we need it most.

Commentators disagree about whether the hills represent refuge or danger. I find comfort in that uncertainty. Whether they represent safety or trial, they cannot bear the weight of our hope. Sometimes we run to places we think will save us, only to discover they cannot. The Psalmist does not ignore the hills—he looks at them honestly, then looks beyond them to the One who can truly help. Our confidence is never in the path before us, but in the God who made heaven and earth. Someone I know recently said, "Don't ever let the presence of a storm cause you to doubt the presence of our God."

Twenty years ago, I finally crawled close enough to the summit for my dad to reach down and pull me the rest of the way. I summited . . . with a bit of help.

Life will bring us all to narrow places where our own strength is no longer enough. When that day comes, resist the temptation to trust your own wisdom or allow the weight of your circumstances to pull you into a valley of sin, fear, or despair. Lift your eyes instead to the Maker of heaven and earth. His hand is already extended, His strength never fails, and His help is always enough.