Photo Credit to Benjamin Johnson, feat Amber Ginter. The Great Smokey Mountains.

Scream into the mountaintops.
Something is giving birth.

I can hear it.
I can feel it.
I can see it.
I can sense it.

Freedom is coming.
Crisp like evergreens and ocean blues.
Mountains dancing on the horizon.

She is still here.
You are still here.

Letting go.
Leaving go.

Setting free.
Breaking free.
Chains falling.
It’s the fresh breeze on a hot day.
Refreshing springs in the coolness of night.

He is still there.
He’s never let go.
And He never will.
He won’t start now.
For His Word is steadfast and true.
Everlasting and unshaken,
Stronger than the lies
Calling my name.

From behind the peaks, valleys, and earths shatter, crevasses of muddied rock and soil at my fingertips.

I touch the miry clay.

I’m healing.
I’m coming home.
I’m tasting freedom.
I’m tasting mountains in their highs and lows.
And I’m taking them with me far behind the Tennessee mountains.

I’m already free, but I must walk like it.

In love.
In the choice.
In the decision.
That feelings must be felt,
But they too come and go.

And though the mountains may fall and the flowers and grass fall away and fade,
My God,
Who sometimes I feel and sometimes I don’t,
Still loves me.

As love.
As peace.
As hope.
As joy.

And He’s never changing.
Even when I do.

He is the mountaintops.
He is in the valleys.
And our bodies.
Oh, God.
Our bodies are mountain peaks and lowest craters of earthshaking, crumbling disaster.

But in the breaking and formation,
Something beautiful is being born.
Rewritten, molded, created, hand-crafted,
Delicately and intricately chosen,
We are mountains.

I am a mountain.
I’m being shaped into something new.
This is my calling.
To break, and shape, and call out.
And be made new over and over again,
Just like the mountains.

My beauty often comes in crumbling,
But when it stops,
The disaster is the most breathtaking sight you’ve ever seen.

Dripping in glaciers,
Sideways mangles of fallen rock
That people gasp in wonder of how something so beautiful was made.

Just like you.
Just like me.
Just like us.
We’re these mountains.

And perhaps we are mountains to be reminded that daily we must be broken, surrendered, and shattered to the one who sets us free over and over again.
So that in seeing other mountains we see ourselves.

We see you.
We see messy lives worth living for.

Agape, Amber