Mountains

It wasn’t until I saw the Rocky Mountains in person that I truly appreciated how grand they are. From a distance, the thousands of trees that cover the mountainside look like blades of grass. And even on hot summer days, snow still rests atop their peaks.

Even more striking was the perspective they gave me: how infinitely more grand the Creator of these mountains must be. There is a God who pulled these giants out of the earth. And we, as His people, can marvel at the majesty of what He has made.

The mountains pictured here are the Three Sisters in Canmore, Alberta. My wife’s family and I visit nearly every Christmas, as her parents live just a 45-minute drive away. I first saw these mountains in 2017, two years before we were married. Her family and I stayed in a cabin in Canmore, and from our window, we could see the Three Sisters. I loved the poetic parallel: my wife is one of three sisters, too.

This photo was taken last December, five years into our marriage. She was carrying our baby. It was such an exciting Christmas. We gave my in-laws mugs that said World’s Best Grandma and Grandpa on them. There were tears, hugs, smiles, and gobsmacked stares.

On February 10th, we were getting ready to tell all of our friends and family the news. Instead, suddenly, we experienced a miscarriage. What had been a dream fulfilled became a profound loss. I remember going into problem-solving mode. The only way to fix the situation is to get pregnant again, right? If we stay on the path, everything will be okay. I realized quickly that this was not the answer; we would have to face this reality head-on. It hit gradually and without warning: deleting the growth tracking app, removing the due date from our calendar, putting into storage the car seat we bought early because we didn’t want to miss the sale. While processing all of this, my wife still had to endure the physical toil, an experience that didn’t put the baby in her arms once it finished. My heart aches just thinking about it.

It was such a stark contrast to when we learned that we were pregnant in December. Finally, the path had become so clear. God made me wait, and then rewarded me with what I wanted most. And now, this mountain had risen up in front of me, blocking the light and darkening my steps. Will we ever have a baby? Will life feel normal again? Will I ever be a dad?

Although I couldn’t see it at the time, God was making a way. It didn’t feel like summiting the mountain, the hard work and new heights that proved I was moving forward. It felt more like walking through a dark valley carved through the heart of my sorrow. I couldn’t see where I was going—and at times, I wondered if I’d ever reach the other side. But rather than reveal the whole path at once, God asked me to trust Him. Through that trust, He brought my wife and I closer to each other than we’ve ever been.

This mountain appeared insurmountable at first, but it wasn’t. Mountains themselves are always shifting, rising and eroding over time. God has shown us through His creation that He alone is unchanging; as long as I keep my eyes on Him, He will guide me.

Even though I walk
through the darkest valley,
I will fear no evil,
for you are with me;
your rod and your staff,
they comfort me.
Psalm 23:4

Text & Photography: Kyle Simpson