We were more than three quarters of the way to our destination when the shimmering peaks of the Rockies met our gaze. The seemingly desolate and flat landscape abruptly rose out of the earth without warning, raising up to meet God for as far as the eye could see.
That’s our future home.
We will take our daughter to those peaks.
We will hike, make s’mores, get dirty, swim in lakes, and soak up all the beautiful range offers.
I pressed my nose against the window. Ridges and crests wound their way around ancient rock and dirt.
There are times in life when you’re unsure of your next move, both figuratively and literally. It could be while rock scrambling atop a questionable pass, or deciding where to raise your unborn child. The second my eyes connected with the Rockies, the months of research made sense. The hours, weeks, and days we poured into determining whether or not we could uproot our life on the east coast and start anew—yet again, on the eve of welcoming our daughter into this world was almost too much to process on the bumpy plane.
It’s seems cliche but one look and I just knew. It was visceral and intense. It was home. This was where we’re meant to be. Snow capped mountains that rival only the Sierras, were calling out to us. If we didn’t seize this opportunity, I wasn’t sure we’d get another. It was time for a new chapter, and maybe some new hiking boots. Whatever required, we were ready.