Day 187

2 Kings 1–2 | Matthew 10:1–25 | Psalm 79

⸻

Last year, Sophia was nervous.

Her bag was packed, but her heart was knotted—anxious, hesitant, unsure of what the week away might hold. It was her first time at summer camp. First time being gone that long. First time, really, letting go.

So I made a card for each day.

Handwritten. Illustrated.

Filled with Scripture, prayers, and drawings that weren’t exactly fine art—but they were mine.

My way of staying close, even when I couldn’t be with her.

This year?

Different story entirely.

She packed her own bag. Triple-checked her checklist. Counted the hours until departure.

And when I asked if she wanted letters again, she said, “Just one’s enough this time, Daddy.”

No hesitation. No fear.

Just a girl who isn’t where she used to be.

And it hit me: she’s growing up.

She doesn’t need me the same way she did last year.

And maybe that’s a good thing.

Because this time, she’s not afraid.

This time, she’s ready.

But more than that—Talacey and I are praying for something deeper than just confidence and fun.

We’re praying she meets God on that mountaintop this week.

Not just in the songs or games or zipline moments. But in the stillness after the lights go out.

In the morning quiet with an open Bible.

In the whispered nudge that says, I see you, and I’m not far.

Because we all need that.

We all need those mountaintop moments—where the fog clears, the noise fades, and the presence of God feels unmissable.

A Double Portion, Not a Shallow Feeling

Elisha got one of those.

In 2 Kings 2, he walks with Elijah to the edge of farewell. They cross the Jordan. They speak plainly. Elijah is about to be taken. And Elisha makes a bold, holy request:

“Let me inherit a double portion of your spirit.” (2 Kings 2:9)

Not a double platform.

Not a double reputation.

A double portion of the Spirit.

Elisha wanted to carry the weight of what he had witnessed in Elijah’s life.

And in that moment—when the whirlwind comes, and the chariots blaze, and Elijah is taken up—Elisha sees it.

He tears his robes. Picks up the cloak that once covered his mentor.

And walks forward—not in memory, but in power.

He didn’t stay on the mountaintop.

But he was changed by it.

Because the mountain was never the point—transformation was.

The Point of the Peak Is the Valley

In Matthew 10, Jesus sends out His disciples. They’ve walked with Him. Watched Him. Heard Him.

But now they’re being sent—not just to witness, but to participate.

And it won’t be easy.

They’ll be sheep among wolves.

They’ll face rejection, resistance, persecution.

But they’ll also carry power. Authority. Purpose.

And isn’t that the point of every mountaintop moment?

Not just to feel something.

But to become someone.

Someone who’s seen enough of God to carry Him into the valley.

When the Mountain Feels Miles Away

Maybe today—like me—you’re not on a mountaintop.

Maybe you’re in the middle of Psalm 79—the valley of unanswered prayers, broken walls, burned-down hopes.

You’re pleading with God to show up again.

To remind you He still sees you.

To restore what feels ruined.

And maybe you don’t need fireworks.

Maybe you just need a quiet, sacred reminder that even when the mountaintop feels miles away—He hasn’t left you.

Because He hasn’t.

He still meets people on mountains.

He still calls and equips.

He still sends with power.

And sometimes, He’s closest not when we feel Him—but when we choose to trust Him anyway.

⸻

Lord, thank You for the mountaintop moments that change us—but don’t let us chase feelings instead of You. Let us walk into every calling, every valley, every unknown with the kind of faith that has seen Your glory and still chooses to trust You in the dark. Whether we’re in the whirlwind or in the ruins, let us carry this truth: You are the God who meets us, sends us, and stays with us always. Amen.