I’ve heard lots of preaching on the mountaintops and valleys of life. I must admit, I prefer the mountaintop sermons. In Exodus 24:12-18 Moses goes up the mountain to meet God. After waiting seven days, the glory of the Lord appeared when Moses appeared to the masses. In Matthew 17:1-9, we see that Jesus took three disciples with him on the seventh day and led them up on a high mountain where his face shone like the sun and his clothes became white as light. What a sight that must have been!
Mountaintops are exciting and special, where we all want to be all the time, right? But what of those Israelites who were left behind, or even worse what of the other 9 disciples who didn’t get to go with Jesus that day, and only heard about it second-hand.
I’ve had my mountaintop experience when I felt the presence of Jesus in the room with me. It was August 25, 2006, the day I received a call from my doctor telling me I had breast cancer. The time on the mountaintop was short, just long enough for Jesus to ask me if I was willing to die for him, to be a real disciple for him. It took a few hours of wretched thrashing around, but the answer was finally “yes”.
It’s been almost five years now and a good friend asked if I’ve had another mountaintop experience since then: “Don’t you miss the mountaintop? Isn’t it harder once you’ve been there to live in the valleys?”
I’ve come to realize that my mountaintops aren’t about seeing God one on one; now it ‘s all about trusting Him completely.
When I really trust God for everything, it is like being on the mountaintop, in the company of a great friend who cares for me and wants the best for me. I feel loved and privileged to be his special child.
I plunge into the valley when I try to do everything myself. I take credit when things go well, blame others when I fail, and use all my human inadequacies in my relationships with others.
Instead of trying so hard to see and hear God and renew the “mountaintop” experience, I now get that same rush when I trust Him completely.
Blessings, my friend,