A journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step.
Our family is currently on an exciting adventure here in the U.S. After a few weeks of settling in, we have already learned so much and grown together in new ways. One of the things I deeply treasure about this season of life is that we are walking this path as a family—united in experiencing a new chapter of God’s unfolding plan.
My husband and I desire to instill in our children the importance of seeking God’s will and committing to serve in the expansion of His kingdom wherever we go. Wherever life leads us, we make it a priority to find a local church, worship with fellow believers, and serve alongside them.
In these past weeks, I have met many wonderful people. Their warm welcome, hospitality, and generosity have made us feel at home. Truly, the fellowship of believers reminds us that we are never alone—God always provides a family of faith, no matter where we are.
One of the most remarkable experiences we recently had was climbing Stone Mountain together as a family. In a previous post, I wrote about climbing a mountain as a metaphor, but this time it was literal. It was our very first family hike, and the experience was unforgettable.
At the start, everyone was excited and eager to reach the summit. But halfway up, fatigue set in. The climb grew steeper, the air thinner, and the peak seemed impossibly far away. It was tempting to stop. Fear and exhaustion became real obstacles.
The final stretch was the hardest. The trail grew steeper, and from that point we could already see the city of Atlanta spread out below us. The view was breathtaking, but it was also intimidating—especially for EJ, who, I realized for the first time, struggles with a fear of heights. I noticed he suddenly grew quiet, which was unusual for him. When I held his hand, it was cold. I gently asked if he was okay, and though he said he was fine, I could sense his hesitation.
I encouraged him to share what he was feeling, and he admitted he was afraid to keep going. I told my husband and our other children to continue toward the top while EJ and I rested under the shade of a pine tree. As we talked, I reminded him that we had seen younger children make it safely to the top with their families. I reassured him that the climb was safe and that I would be with him the whole way—holding his hand, talking with him, and even singing his favorite song together to distract him from fear.
With courage slowly replacing fear, EJ decided to continue. Step by step, hand in hand, we climbed until at last we reached the summit. That moment was more meaningful than any view we could have seen. We had conquered not just a mountain but also fear itself. And to top it all off, a refreshing Coke slurpee from the snack shop at the summit felt like the sweetest reward!
The journey down the mountain brought new challenges. We had the option of taking the skylift or walking the trail again. Considering EJ’s fear of heights, we realized the skylift would only bring more anxiety, so we chose to hike down together. This time, my husband and I took turns holding EJ’s hand, encouraging him along the way. His cheerful voice returned once we reached the sections covered by tall pine trees, where the view below was hidden.
That hike reminded me that reaching the top is not the end of the journey. Coming down—just like facing the challenges after success—can be just as testing, if not more so.
Right now, our family is praying for something still far from our reach. Yet the load feels lighter because we are walking together, supported by the prayers and encouragement of friends, both old and new. Building these friendships has been one of the sweetest gifts of this season, though it also makes parting more difficult. Each relationship leaves a piece of my heart behind.
But this is what life’s journey is about—taking each step in faith, conquering fears together, and trusting that God is guiding us toward His perfect plan.
