One of my closest friends has been talking a lot about the significance of obedience in her faith walk.

As she digs deeper, her mantra, “delayed obedience is disobedience”, it’s a stark truth that thrust her into making some (good!) hard decisions. For me, I hear that more like a warning. A big red flag that says “Miranda, I’m coming for YOU”. God usually has to slap me in the face a few times and knock me down just enough to take the wind out of me before I take him seriously. I won’t complain about that. It empowers me to learn lessons wholly, deeply, and with absurd conviction.

Maybe all you need today is the nudge to be still and listen. To practice obedience because you already understand the importance of obedience and know how to obey.

If that’s you… you should write for my website so I can learn from you, and the rest of this email is about my deeper reflection about how to come to obedience. So you might not need (or care about) that.

The Bible tells us about numerous encounters man has with God on mountain tops. Perhaps two of the most notable, Moses receives the ten commandments atop the peaks of Mt. Sinai, and Elijah hears from God not in the fire or the earth quake, but the mouth of a cave on a mountain. We’re conditioned that the peaks are places we work to get to. We deplete our strength, drain our energy, and fall at the feet of God at the peaks. They’re sacred spaces with holy experiences that transform us into who God needs us to be for the work he has destined for us. We get fueled, equipped, and prepared for the road ahead.

In stark contrast, valleys often give us the feeling of the trial and the test to make it to the peaks. Psalm 23:4 might be the most popular depiction of this. “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.”

I don’t know about you, but transformation and holy missions sound exhausting to me. And that’s just when you’re on top of the mountain. We haven’t even talked about the climb up. And the valley, that’s supposed to be the hard things, the struggles, the pain. Fatigue is central to all of this if you ask me.

But elementary geography tells us that valleys have more resources – rain, vegetation, habitat, etc. Air thins as we ascend, terrain hardens, life is scarce.

My husband and I hiked in Sedona, AZ recently. The valleys offered shade, cooler temperatures, and more moisture in the air. It was easier to move faster through our hike when we hit these parts of the trails. As we ascended to high plateaus or scaled the mountain sides, rocks jutted out of the path, the air was hot while the sun and dust stuck to the little sweat that didn’t evaporate away in the dry air. We moved slower and labored harder. Still, the views when we looked up and around propelled us further, higher despite the heavy breathing and sore legs.

I paused to catch my breath and drink some cool water before we descended back towards the cooler, shady parts of the trail: the valley. I felt alive. Invigorated. Clear, determined, and fueled despite the painful labor to get there. As I cast my gaze out past the tree tops of the valley, it occurred to me…

What if we’re supposed to rest and refuel in both the valleys AND again at the peaks? Maybe the rest is just different. Maybe it’s the mind that refuels and rests at the peaks and the body that heals in the valleys.

Maybe our energy draw and the parts of the journey we crave the most shed light on where our priorities are.

What commands would I hear if I rested appropriately?

What obedience could I lean into faithfully if learned when God’s nudging me listen and to what I’m supposed to be listening to?