When John Muir wrote, “The mountains are calling, and I must go,“ he didn’t realize how deeply I’d feel that call in my bones. There is something about the crisp air at elevation, the vast silence interrupted only by the wind, the way the world stretches endlessly beneath your feet. The mountaintop moments—those miraculous, rare encounters with clarity, beauty, and awe—have always drawn me in. Often, they feel like going to church for me. The high country gets me closer to heaven, I feel, and I’ve glimpsed Jesus there, felt His love, and more clearly appreciated the breadth and depth of miracles in my life.
But as much as I yearn for the mountains, I really do understand I can’t spend all my time there. And despite what my restless heart sometimes argues, that’s not a flaw in the plan. The truth is, very little grows on the peaks. The air is thin. The soil is rocky. The conditions are too harsh for most things to take root.
While the mountains offer a ready test of strength and courage, it’s in the valleys where life flourishes, where God’s real work is taking place.
Lessons from the Trail
Spending time in the backcountry has taught me this firsthand. Trekking through wild places, I’ve come to understand that the summit—while breathtaking—exists in an inhospitable zone. The air is thin, the conditions harsh, and nothing grows there.
The valleys, by contrast, are rich with rivers and meadows, where water flows freely, where orchards rise, and where life flourishes.
The same is true in my life. As much as I crave the high points, the miraculous moments, I’ve learned that real transformation happens in the low places. In the planting. In the watering. And in the waiting, weeding, and work of daily life.
And despite the awe I feel at higher elevations or the undeniable signal strength I sense when closer to heaven, those moments are fleeting. Experience has taught me that life isn’t about counting peaks bagged or measuring time spent away. It’s not a race from one mountaintop to the next, nor is it about retreating from human connection. Life is about learning to walk well through the valleys, where the real, sustaining work of growth takes place.
And just as in the wilderness, the valleys of life are not places we pass through alone. They are where I come to see Him most clearly—not just in a distant, miraculous way, but in the ordinary, in the every day, in the moments I might have overlooked. It’s in the quiet stretches of daily life, the unseen moments of perseverance, the struggles I’d rather avoid that I realize He has been walking beside me all along.
Reframing the Journey
This realization has shaped how I see my current stage of life. I once imagined that meaning was tied to movement—to going, achieving, climbing. But lately, I’ve found myself spending more time “at home,” in a season of steady effort rather than dramatic ascents. I used to resist that, feeling like it was a detour from something greater. Now I see it for what it is: the essential terrain of my journey. Meaning and growth come in the waiting, forbearing, connecting.,
In each locale, movement is measured in a different way. The mountains remind me what’s possible, but the valleys are where I become the kind of person who can reach them. The depth of my character is shaped not just by grand summits but by the steps I take each day in the less glamorous stretches of the path.
And it is here, in the “ordinary,” that I’ve learned to seek the champion of my growth–Jesus Christ—differently. Not just in the moments of crisis or triumph but in the small, consistent steps of faith. I need Him as much in the valleys as I do when I’m reaching for a summit.
Living with This Perspective
Understanding this has reshaped how I approach my everyday life. I’m getting better at asking:
- Am I tending to what grows in the valley?
- Am I learning to see the purpose in the present moment?
- Am I walking with Christ, not just seeking Him when I’m in need of a miracle?
Because this is the big picture—the eternal journey. The peaks will come, but they are not the destination. They places to stand on occasion perhaps to glimpse what’s ahead or remember why the beautiful valleys matter and to keep walking, growing, and becoming.
I will always love the mountains. They are a part of me, a place where my soul exhales. But I no longer believe that the aspiring life isn’t about more time on the peaks but rather in the valleys, with all their complexity. Where the real story unfolds.
So yes, the mountains are calling. And I will go. But I will also return. And in both places, I will find what I need.
