I came to Washington hoping to see Mt. Rainier—but on our first day, I couldn’t find it anywhere.
We landed at 1:00 a.m., too tired to notice much of anything. A few hours later, I threw open the curtains and gasped. The sky was cloudless. The trees were the greenest I had ever seen. Everything felt bright and alive.
My camera reel from our first day is filled with evergreen trees, sweeping landscapes, and the glistening water of the Puget Sound. But no mountain. On our drive along the coast, we caught glimpses of it through thick trees, but I could never fully take it in.
On our second morning, over breakfast with my husband and the couple traveling with us (Greg and Angie), I shared the two things I had asked God for that day.
“We learned so much about the area and the culture yesterday,” I said, recounting our visits to coffee shops, local stores, and a library. “God is giving us a glimpse of what life would look like here.”
“But I still feel like there are so many unknowns—especially about the homeschool community,” I added. “So I asked God that, when we go to church this morning, a homeschooling mom would walk right up to me and introduce herself.”
It felt like a bold thing to ask. But after how clearly he had worked the day before, I found myself hoping he might answer just as plainly again.
Our friends encouraged me to trust the Lord and then asked about my second request.
“To see Mt. Rainier!” I said with a grin. They laughed at my somewhat frivolous request, and we loaded into the car.
As we drove to the interstate, my husband and I kept processing the day before with our friends. We confessed concerns we had about the financial feasibility of moving out here.
“I know God can provide,” my husband said. “I just wish we knew how.”
“There it is!” I interrupted our conversation with a shout. “It’s Mt. Rainier!” When we merged on the interstate, I suddenly had a wide-open view of the majestic white mountain. Tears pricked my eyes while I rolled down the window to get the best picture of the mountain in all her glory.
“God’s already answering your prayers,” Angie responded after we’d filled our camera with photos. “I know he will provide for your other needs, too.”
I nodded, silently thanking God for answering my small, silly prayer and asking that he strengthen my faith in him to answer my big prayers, too.
Thirty minutes later, we arrived at the church early and took our seats. A woman from the praise team came off the stage to greet us. We explained why we were visiting, made small talk, and asked questions about the area.
At last, I asked the question burning in my chest, “Where do your kids go to school?”
My new friend Sarah smiled broadly, “We actually homeschool.”
My mouth dropped open. Greg began to cry. My husband shook his head in disbelief.
Sarah looked confused at our response until I explained my prayer request from that morning.
“You’re God’s answer to my prayer,” I admitted through tears. We chatted about co-ops, outdoor opportunities, and state regulations.
Later, I also told Sarah about my second, “silly” request I had made of God that morning. “Rainier is absolutely breathtaking. It seems like it’s right here, even while it’s more than an hour away.”
“We have a saying in Washington,” Sarah told me. “When we can see Rainier, we say, ‘The mountain is out.’ Most days during the rainy season, we won’t glimpse Rainier for weeks. But when we do, it’s cause for celebration.”
It was time for the service to start, so she returned to her place on stage. As we sang with fellow brothers and sisters in Christ, I couldn’t stop thinking about what Sarah said.
Rainier is always there. Sometimes we just can’t see it behind the clouds.
On our final day of the trip, we experienced a typical cold, rainy day in the Pacific Northwest. I looked to the horizon where I knew the majestic mountain stood, but I couldn’t even distinguish an outline because of all the clouds and fog.
Yet I knew it was there.
God showed us his providence so clearly on that trip. Knitting our hearts together with the pastor and his wife. Meeting possible partners in ministry in the area. Learning more about the military families there. Providing us with undeniable assurance that this was exactly where God was calling our family to move.
The mountain was out: we could see all God’s glory and provision.
But I know there will be days and weeks, maybe even months, when I won’t be able to glimpse his goodness and provision.
There will be grief when saying goodbye, trying to explain to my kids why we are taking them from the only home they’ve known. There will be financial struggles, wondering how we will manage doubling a mortgage payment. There will be loneliness, trying to make new friends in an unfamiliar city.
There will be rainy and foggy days when I can’t glimpse why God moved our family across the country. Days marked by grief, trials, and questions I can’t answer.
But the mountain doesn’t disappear just because I can’t see it.
And neither does God.
So I can sing with the psalmist, “I lift my eyes toward the mountains. Where will my help come from? My help comes from the Lord, the Maker of heaven and earth” (Psalm 121:1-2).
Some days, the mountain will be out—clear, breathtaking, undeniable.
And on the days it isn’t, I’ll keep lifting my eyes anyway.