When Mountains Turn to Hills
Approximately five years ago, my former boss, when describing the mountains in Tennessee, referred to them as "hills"—an intentional dig. He was from Arizona, and if you’ve ever been out West, you’d understand his sentiment. The mountains out there are massive, often dwarfing those in the East. From his perspective, the hiking opportunities in Tennessee didn’t seem particularly challenging or aligned with his idea of true mountains.
A few years ago, I watched a documentary called 14 Peaks. It highlights the fearless Nepali mountaineer Nimsdai Purja, who embarks on a seemingly impossible quest to summit all 14 of the world's 8,000-meter peaks in record time—just seven months. I can only imagine that, from Nimsdai's perspective, the mountains my former boss frequented in Arizona might seem like mere hills.
If there’s a lesson here, it’s that the grandeur of a mountain is relative to one’s exposure, and the difficulty of the climb is shaped by individual experience and one’s willingness to seek and scale more challenging peaks.
On September 21, 2024, marking the 100-day countdown to the end of the year, I reached out to my family with a challenge. I asked them to set a demanding daily goal in three categories—soul, body, and mind—to be carried out consistently for 100 days. Metaphorically, I was asking them to choose three mountains to climb.
I’ll admit upfront: I wasn’t perfect in my execution. I missed about 20–25 days out of the 100. Still, the results were undeniable. After about a month, what initially felt daunting began to feel manageable. For my physical challenge, I became stronger, increased my endurance, and developed systems to ensure success. The weight of the daily task grew lighter as time went on.
I also noticed that on days I skipped a challenge, I felt an underlying sense of unease—a healthy level of anxiety that motivated me to get back on track the next day. As the days passed, the mental effort required to succeed decreased. My mountain was becoming a hill.
By the end of the challenge, what once felt difficult was now routine. My baseline for what I considered “hard” had shifted. My results are not unusual. Committing to a challenging routine typically yields similar results, however, the experience profoundly impacted my perspective on life and how I should approach the future—especially now that my son is part of the picture.
Most people might say I have a lot to be proud of in my life. However, if I’m brutally honest with myself, I’ve been coasting in many areas. I’m not pushing myself, and this stagnation has left me feeling unfulfilled. Sure, I’d likely be fine if I continued this way, but I wouldn’t be proud of myself.
Lately, I’ve felt a growing urge to build a life that inspires others—especially my son and future children. I began asking myself: Am I on the path to becoming my son’s hero?
The answer, at present, is no. My current story doesn’t feel heroic. But this feeling—the sense that I’m capable of more—is a calling from God. Becoming my son’s hero isn’t just a personal goal; it’s a divine mandate.
These questions linger in my mind:
How can I inspire him to take risks if I don’t?
How can I tell him he can achieve anything if I don’t set an example?
How can I inspire him to trust God wholeheartedly if I don’t?
How do I show him that obedience to God is always worth it?
If there’s a mountain blocking God’s will, He will equip me with the tools to climb it. But how can I communicate that truth to my son if I’m content with climbing hills instead of conquering mountains?
Every time we conquer a mountain in God’s name, our faith and capabilities grow stronger. Over time, what once seemed insurmountable becomes manageable. The mountain becomes a hill.
This year, our family’s guiding mantra will be: Turning Mountains into Hills.
To kick off 2025 with intention, my family and I hiked Stone Mountain, a popular landmark in northern Georgia, on New Year’s Day. My wife and I have climbed this mountain many times, but this was the first time with our son strapped to my chest.
Beyond enjoying the beautiful day, our hike symbolized the mentality we want to have this year. Part of the reason I encouraged my family to undertake the 100-day challenge leading up to the New Year was to build momentum rather than start cold on January 1st.
This year, I plan to lead by example—to find mountains worth climbing and challenge myself more than ever before. I am confident that, by the end of the year, what once seemed like mountains will have become hills.
