I jerked awake, heart pounding. Men’s voices came from the deep darkness outside my window.

My husband gone that night, I mentally ran through my options. A call to the sheriff would be routed to a city 30 minutes away. I didn’t own a weapon outside of a softball bat. Our house backed up to state wilderness, and our doors were always unlocked in our safe little village. The only other occupied home on our little street held an elderly woman.

Trembling, I ran down the stairs with the softball bat and listened by the door, praying that my children would stay safely in their beds.

Before long, I found out the men had wandered off a wilderness trail and had somehow ended up behind my house. The night was so deep that they failed to see the two-story structure mere yards away.

If I confronted them, they would be aware that I was a woman alone. But if they continued down the creekbed, they would end up in the yard of an elderly neighbor, also alone this dark night. What to do?

Holding my breath, I stepped out onto the deck and turned on a light, frightening them as much as they had frightened me a few minutes earlier. There was a road, I informed them, just up the steep hill across the creek. It would take them straight into town.

They argued, wanting to continue downhill, following the creekbed through my yard and into my neighbor’s. Climb the hill, I commanded, or I’ll call the sheriff.

Finally, reluctantly, they scrambled up the hill to the road, sounding surprised when their palms hit pavement. I returned to bed after locking the doors, trembling, glad that my children hadn’t awakened. Glad that the men had done what I told them.

Like those men outside my window, there have been hills I’ve had to climb in faith, following the difficult path instead of the easier downhill trek. I’ve doubted that the way would lead to goodness; that my feet would eventually settle on solid ground. The climb looks much harder from the bottom of the hill than it does along the way.

Climb the hill, my Guide told me, aware of trouble I couldn’t see; obstacles on the easier way that would have tripped me up in the darkness of my ignorance. Climb the hill, he urged, helping me along, until my grasping hands found purchase on smooth ground.

There are hills I’ve climbed when my heart and soul protested the way. When I was weary from the exertion of it. When my flesh wanted desperately to rationalize, to justify, to excuse me from the challenge. But always, always, my hands eventually met pavement. Always, always, I discovered a road at the top in the darkness that led me to peace. To purpose.

Are you climbing in the darkness right now? Doubting that faith will ever become sight?

We have help to climb the hill. Prayer. The Holy Spirit to guide us. Fellow climbers to encourage us. Though the way becomes dark, we never climb alone.

Climb the hill, pilgrim. Don’t shrink back when the way grows steep. The view from the top is worth it all.

For this God is our God for ever and ever; he will be our guide even to the end.
‭‭Psalms‬ ‭48‬:‭14‬

Psalm 48:14