Mountains Don't Always Have Trails

Deuteronomy 34:1–4

Then Moses went up from the plains of Moab to Mount Nebo, to the peak of Pisgah, which faces Jericho, and the LORD showed him all the land He had promised to His people. He allowed Moses to see it with his own eyes, but he would not cross over into it.

There are mountains in life that we climb with excitement and anticipation. We prepare for them, study the trail, gather our supplies, and set out with a destination in mind. We may not know exactly what the climb will require, but at least we have a trail to follow.

And then there are mountains that have no trails.

We don't know where to begin, what lies ahead, or how we will find our way to the other side. We simply know that the climb is before us, and we have to take the next step.

Susan and I have been friends for almost four years. She came into my life while she was experiencing homelessness and living in her car with her cat, Patches. She had lost her housing because of rising rents she could no longer afford. She was forced to pack up everything she owned, move it into storage, and navigate homelessness for the first time in her life, just shy of 60 years old.

Susan had gone to college, earned a master's degree, and found success as a speech therapist. Over the course of her life, however, she had developed serious medical issues that prevented her from working full time. Although she qualified for Social Security Disability benefits, living on a fixed income in an increasingly expensive world is a recipe for instability.

Relationships within her family had been severed following the death of her mother several years earlier. She was alone, homeless, and afraid.

Oh, and she had recently been diagnosed with lung cancer.

I met Susan about a week before Thanksgiving and knew I had to do something to help her. I brought her into my home and made her part of our family. She stayed with us for about six months in a spare bedroom while we waited for her name to come up on the housing waiting list.

She was so excited to have a place of her own again, especially with her 60th birthday just around the corner. She moved in, settled down, and, eventually, her lung cancer went into remission. Things were looking up.

Over the next couple of years, Susan and I drifted apart for a variety of reasons. We never completely lost contact, though.

Fast-forward to the eve of her 62nd birthday. Another round of devastating news came. The cancer had spread to her brain, causing confusion and other complications that began to affect her health. Initially, doctors believed surgery might cure her, and Susan was optimistic. Sadly, that wasn't the case. The surgery was performed, but not all of the tumors could be removed.

The cancer continued to spread.

She was eventually told she had about a month left to live. Hospice would take over, providing what they call comfort care.

Susan understands what is happening, and she has accepted it. We have cried together a few times, but for the most part, she has been in remarkably good spirits.

Something extraordinary is happening.

Everything that once seemed so important to her is no longer important. In these final days, what matters most is the moment right in front of her. Yesterday rarely comes up in conversation. Neither does tomorrow. The material possessions she once loved no longer hold the same meaning. She doesn't even want her phone.

She seems to be living with one foot in this life and one foot in the next.

And I am simply walking with her.

I have never done anything like this before. I have never walked with someone through their final days. I don't know what to expect, what I will feel, or what this journey will ask of me. I only know that I want Susan to know she is loved. I want her to feel safe, cared for, and surrounded by people who see her, value her, and will not abandon her as she approaches the end of her life.

This is a new kind of mountain for me.

When I read about Moses standing on Mount Nebo, I wonder what it must have felt like to stand there and look out over the land God had promised. After all those years of wandering, leading, struggling, and trusting, Moses could finally see the destination. But he would not enter it. He had reached a place where he could see what lay ahead, but he could not go there himself.

There is something about that moment that feels familiar to me now. I am standing beside Susan at the edge of a place I have never been. I can see that the journey is nearing its end, but I don't know what the final steps will look like. I cannot change the destination. I cannot make the climb easier by knowing the trail. And I cannot walk this final stretch for her. I can only walk beside her.

We tend to think faith means knowing where God is taking us. We want a map, a plan, a clear path through the wilderness. But sometimes faith means trusting God when there is no trail to follow. Sometimes it means taking the next step without knowing what comes after it. And sometimes it means setting aside our desire to fix things, find answers, or make everything better, and simply being present with someone we love. I think that is the most holy ground of all.

Moses could not cross into the Promised Land, but God was with him on Mount Nebo.

And I trust that God will be with Susan on this mountain, too.

I don't know what to expect in the days ahead. I don't know how to prepare for the moment when our time together comes to an end. I don't know what this climb will teach me about grief, love, or letting go. But I know I don't have to know everything today.

God has not asked me to see the entire trail. He has only asked me to take the next step.

So I will keep showing up. I will sit with Susan. I will hold her hand when she needs it. I will listen when she wants to talk and be quiet when she doesn't. I will laugh with her when there is something to laugh about and cry with her when there are tears to shed.

I will remind her that she is loved.

And I will trust that when I reach the places where I have no idea what to do next, God will meet me there. Because mountains don't always have trails. Sometimes, we have to walk by faith. And sometimes, the most sacred climb of our lives isn't about reaching a destination at all. It's about loving someone well along the way.