Holy Ground in Low Places

The road up to the mountain is rarely straight. It may not even be paved.

The valley tests you.

The valley builds you.

The valley teaches you why the mountain is your destination.

It is the most humble place to be.

I was on a long 7 hour drive to Machu Picchu from Cusco over the summer. And let me tell you, I have never been more scared to be on the “road” in my life. To be honest, there wasn't a road. There were dirt paths leading up to the highest peak in Peru, and on the way down, the van had 6 inches at most on the side of the mountain before we would have fallen off. We were driving through a valley for the majority of the ride.

But that valley drive taught me something I didn’t know I needed: You can’t reach the wonder of Machu Picchu without the discomfort of the valley. You can’t reach the breathtaking view without passing through the places that unsettle you. You can’t reach the ancient beauty at the top without trusting the path that looks nothing like what you expected.

The more I sat with these thoughts, the more I realized: Jesus’ ministry was in the valley. Down in the dirt. In the pain, sickness, heartache, and strongholds. He was in the wandering and in the wilderness. He wasn’t afraid of low places. He chose them.

His miracles happened on dusty roads, by wells, in crowded homes, and among people who were hurting, overlooked and considered the lowest by society. And maybe that’s why the valleys matter so much. They shape us. They steady us. They strip us down to what’s real. They show us how deeply we need Jesus before we ever step foot on a mountaintop. And here’s the thing I’m learning:
God does some of His best work when the road doesn’t look like a road.
When it feels too narrow.
Too steep.
Too unfamiliar.
Too fragile to carry you.

The same God who leads you through the valley is the One who prepares the mountaintop. And He will not ask you to walk a road He hasn’t already gone before you.