Katie... married her college sweetheart, and together they continue in youth ministry. Last year they left her hometown and moved with their two daughters to Southern Oregon to start a young adult ministry at Table Rock Fellowship.







The past year feels like a mountain. I’ve been slowing scaling it, step after step, with my husband and my side, my kids in tow. I wont go into the details of all that has happened, because most of you know and the rest of you don’t want to know. It’s been the hardest climb of my life. We're climbing this mountain because it’s the path we’ve chosen. It’s what we know is right. And it hasn’t been easy. It’s been full of ravines that we have managed to climb out of, and full of cliffs that we have managed NOT to fall off of.

I could spend all my time looking back down the mountain. I can see it all if I look behind. I can see the place where I was when I got the first phone call. I can see the pile of stones I sat upon when mom passed away. I can see the places my family collapsed to rest. Further up still, the places I stood when other news came my way. More phone calls, more conversations, more stabs in my heart. If I let myself, I could crawl into those memories and just let them darken my soul.



Or I could look up and take in everything else I can see from way up here. When I see the light of the sun on my children’s faces, I feel my heart lighten. When I lean against my husband’s arm and breathe deep of the air up here, clean and clear, I feel my burden lessen. When I look up, I see beauty.



I’m not just surviving anymore. I’m thriving. I’m growing. My family with me. It’s up to me really, how I react to these things that continue to happen. Because life is messy. Because people are messy. And things look even messier when I look down, when I focus on all that has happened, all that has been done to me. But, when I lift my eyes up to the mountains, to the sunrise, to the horizon, from this high place on which God has brought me . . . I see where my help comes from. I see how far I have come. I see how far He wants to take me.



And I can keep going. Not just dragging, but running. Leaping. Climbing vigorously. Celebrating. Suddenly, the climb is not about all that I’m leaving behind, but about all that I am going towards. I get stronger as I climb. As I look up. Those glances back are healthy. They are healing. As long as I look forward again when I’m done.



So hand in hand we walk, my family and I. Climbing upward. I’ll remember everything from this time. My husband will as well. We’ll treasure these things in our heart. I don’t know how much my kids will remember from this time. I hope they don’t remember the meltdowns I had. I hope they wont remember just the pain of loss and change, but how we got through it. How we tried to keep our focus on what was true, and pure, and good, and hopeful. That God never changes. I hope they’ll remember this when their own climb gets hard someday.



But for now, I hope we all learn to enjoy the view. That we learn to play, leaping from rock to rock instead of complaining about the hurdles. That we get stronger from this time, because it wont always be this way. Someday we’ll get to soar. And I want to be ready for that when it comes.