My Mountain

“The sweetest thing in all my life has been the longing – to reach the Mountain, to find the place where all the beauty came from – my country, the place where I ought to have been born. Do you think it all meant nothing, all the longing? The longing for home? For indeed it now feels not like going, but like going back.” – C. S. Lewis

Long ago, I had a mountain.

It wasn’t actually mine, although I thought it was. We lived in a valley tucked away on the south east side of Oahu in the golden years of my childhood. Beyond the northern window of the room my sisters and I shared was my mountain. The green ridge curved around houses and farms, cupping us all in a quiet valley, one proud peak jutting to the sky.

Night after night, I stood at that window. I would duck under the blind and press my face against the screen, chin resting on my arms as I drank in the beauty of the night. God met me there in a way that I’m still seeking words to describe. The breeze that blew in my face on its way down the mountain was like a love song from Him. The mountain stirred a wild longing in me to make its beauty my own. It was a perfectly ordinary mountain. But it birthed in me a thousand hopes and dreams, visions of a faraway land and a burning desire for a true fairytale I knew I was part of. When we moved away, I stood at the window and cried as I said goodbye.

Two weeks ago, I drove past the mountain, rattling along in the family car on our way to see friends. I happened to glance up and see it, unchanged and unchanging, and a flash of knowing pierced my heart. A different viewpoint, from street instead of window. A different season, from child to woman. Yet the mountain hasn’t changed, for the heavens and earth have not yet passed away. It stands a silent testament to the coming kingdom.

Perhaps you have a mountain, or tree, or valley that first caused your heart to leap with longing for the place you’ve been trying to get to all your life. One day, you will arrive, and your heart will find a home in Him. Keep longing for the mountain, for it is the longing that reminds us of the reason for our pilgrimage. Sore feet and broken backs we may have, but we are nearly home.