Lately, God’s been slowing me down and showing me some things — not in loud ways, but in quiet, steady ones.

I’ve been thinking a lot about how easy it is to get distracted — not just by what’s hard, but even by what’s fun or convenient — by obstacles, discouragement, and tension, both in our own lives and in community. Sometimes the things that pull our focus aren’t bad things at all, they’re just easier than staying on the path. And when things feel heavy or fractured, our fleshly instincts kick in and we just want to hibernate — to pull inward, get comfortable, and wait it out. But that’s often when we lose sight of where we’re actually headed.

While I was praying recently, I had this picture of walking up a mountain path. It was steep, and there were obstacles everywhere. And the reminder that came wasn’t to ignore what’s in the way — it was to lift my eyes and keep them on the destination. Not to pretend the path is easy, but to stay oriented toward where God is leading.

Out of the 31,102 verses in the entire Bible, there are two that keep tugging at my heart — verses I feel like God has embedded in my heart, my soul, and my mind. Hebrews 12 says, ‘Lift your drooping hands and strengthen your weak knees. Make straight paths for your feet, so that what is lame may be healed.’ These are the verses I draw strength from.

What struck me is that this isn’t just written to individuals — it’s written to a people. Weak knees don’t get strong in isolation. Healing doesn’t happen apart from the body.

I keep thinking about how trails are actually made. When people keep walking the same path in the woods, the grass gets trampled down. The uneven ground gets worn smoother. The debris gets pushed aside. A clear path doesn’t appear because one person walks it perfectly — it forms because people keep walking it together. Over time, it becomes easier for others to follow.

And eventually, that path becomes more than just a trail. It becomes a way to find home.

I’ve learned that a lot of the strength God has built in me has come through service and advocacy — through standing up for others, caring about dignity, and choosing respect. That kind of strength only grows when we honor how God made each of us — different, wounded, gifted, a bit goofy at times, and so worthy of care — because we are made in the image of the one true King.

Unity doesn’t mean uniformity. It means choosing to walk the same direction with grace. It means remembering that how we walk matters — because the path we make affects the people who come after us.

My prayer is that we would be that kind of community — one body, lifting our eyes together, helping each other back up when we fall, and walking in a way that makes the path clearer and gentler for those still trying to find their way home.