Changing the Way You Look at Things

When I was little, my wise mother had a few great little sayings that she used often.

“Bloom where you are planted.”

That was always one of my favorites. She was relentlessly positive about our situation, no matter how dire it might have been. She taught me that you don't always get to choose where you are planted, but you can choose what you do with where you are.

“If you aren’t true to your teeth, they will be false to you!”

Another favorite—mostly because it is so funny.

And finally:

“If you change the way you look at things, the things you look at will change.”

So wise. And so true.

Our perception of things can profoundly impact how we feel, how we respond, and even what we believe is possible. Sometimes the circumstances haven't changed at all. We have simply changed the way we see them.

That is one of the main reasons I climb.

It helps me see things through a different lens.

We climb so that we can return to the valley with a different perspective.

I was truly able to experience that on our last adventure to the top of Mt. Cameron. It was my first 14er—and Lily's too.

I came home absolutely brimming with ideas and thoughts. I spent the entire first night writing down everything that was swirling around in my mind. It was such an incredible experience that I could probably write a dozen blog posts about it and still only scratch the surface.

But the biggest lesson I took from the mountain was surprisingly simple:

I am enough.

I know that may seem like a strange thing to learn from climbing a mountain, but it is true.

I learned that I can take care of myself.

I can learn from my mistakes and get better.

I can pivot and change course when I need to.

I can set my sights on a goal and get there—with preparation, perseverance, determination, and strength.

I can keep going when something is hard.

I can get myself there.

There was a feeling of empowerment in that realization that I had never experienced before.

And then I started thinking about the women we serve at Feed My Sheep.

I couldn't stop thinking about them.

So many of our women have spent years being told—directly or indirectly—that they aren't enough. They have lived for other people. They have learned to become whatever they needed to become in order to find acceptance, safety, or love. They have survived circumstances that no one should have to survive. And somewhere along the way, many of them have become lost.

They have forgotten who they are.

They have forgotten what they are capable of.

They have forgotten that they are enough.

I want to help change that.

In Matthew 17:1–8, Jesus takes Peter, James, and John up a high mountain. At the top, they see Jesus transfigured before them. They experience something on the mountain that they could not see from the valley.

The mountain gave them perspective.

There are things you can see from the mountain that you simply cannot see from the valley. But Jesus doesn't leave them there. Eventually, He leads them back down the mountain.

And I think that's important.

Mountaintop experiences aren't the destination.

We climb so that we can return to the valley with a different perspective.

We climb so that when the valley gets dark, we remember that there is something beyond it.

We climb so that when the path gets steep, we remember that we have climbed steep paths before.

We climb so that we can look back and say, “I did that. If I could do that, maybe I can do this, too.”

As soon as my feet hit the pavement in the parking lot after climbing Mt. Cameron, I knew I needed to figure out how to teach our ladies at Feed My Sheep the same lesson.

They need to know that they can climb.

Not just mountains.

Life.

They can set a goal and work toward it.

They can make mistakes and try again.

They can change direction.

They can learn.

They can become strong.

They can discover gifts they didn't know they had.

They can do hard things.

They can become the women God created them to be.

They are enough.

They have more inside them than they realize.

Sometimes they don't need someone to rescue them. Sometimes they need someone to walk beside them long enough for them to discover that they can take the next step themselves.

That is what I want to do.

I want to give our women opportunities to climb.

I want to see them reach a summit or two—not because the summit itself is the goal, but because I want them to experience what happens when they realize they are capable of more than they thought.

I want them to stand at the top, look back at the trail they just conquered, and realize:

I did that.

I kept going.

I was stronger than I thought.

And then I want them to come back down into the valley and carry that knowledge with them.

Because the valleys will come.

Life will still be hard.

There will still be disappointments, failures, grief, temptation, fear, and uncertainty.

But maybe the next time they find themselves in a valley, they will see it differently.

Maybe they will remember the mountain.

Maybe they will remember how far they have come.

Maybe they will look at the obstacle in front of them and think, “I can climb this, too.”

And maybe, somewhere along the way, they will begin to understand what I learned on that mountain:

I am enough.

Not because I am strong enough on my own.

Not because I never struggle.

Not because I never fall.

But because I was created by a God who knows me, loves me, and has never stopped believing in who He created me to be.

The mountain doesn't change the valley.

The mountain changes the way we see the valley.

And sometimes, that changes everything.