When the Mountains Seem Further Away
Prophecy is mountain terrain
Some days, the promises of God feel so close you could almost touch them. They rise before you like a bright range in morning light—sharp-edged, alive, inviting.
Other days, they fade into the haze. You find yourself squinting, wondering whether you imagined them. Whether you’re lost. Whether this was all just optimism or wishful thinking.
But prophecy—the true, God-breathed kind—was never meant to be a sugar rush for a single moment. It was never intended to be a nice message you nod at politely before moving on with life.
Prophecy is mountain terrain. Some of what God speaks into your life is near, just a short climb away. But some of it—maybe most of it—lies in distant ranges you will reach only after seasons of steady endurance.
Not all peaks are close. Not all promises break in overnight. Some are glimpsed years ahead, shimmering like heat mirages, waiting for you to keep riding toward them long after your legs start to burn.
Prophecy is God’s Presence marking the landscape of your story.
When He speaks, He stakes a claim: This is where I am leading you. This is what I am making of you. This is who I will be for you on the way.
If you’ve walked with Him long enough, you know the truth: the hardest part isn’t believing He can speak. The hardest part is remembering what He said when it looks like everything around you contradicts it.
The early church understood this. Paul told Timothy to “wage the good warfare” by holding onto the prophecies once spoken over him. He didn’t say “use them to feel encouraged for a week.” He said “fight with them.”
Because forgetfulness is a slow fade. But remembering is resistance.
When your spirit is tired and the road is steep, you don’t need a new word so much as you need to recall the old ones that are still powerfully alive. You need to spread them out before God like a map:
This is where You spoke. This is where You promised. This is what You said You would do.
You need to rehearse them out loud until they get under your skin again—until they become more real than the doubt hissing at your heels.
Don’t let time steal your certainty. Don’t mistake the distance for abandonment. When you are riding through valleys or caught on the “Never-ender”—that stretch of trail that feels like it might break you—remember: the mountains are still there.
They haven’t moved.
And neither has He.
So keep pedaling. Keep holding the line. Keep the prophecies in view.
Because this is how we fight the good fight: by remembering.
When your story is told, let it be said that you were a person who refused to forget.
That you carried God’s promises in your bones.
That you pressed on when others turned back.
That you reached the heights He marked out for you—
not because it was easy,
but because you never stopped believing He meant every word.