A Mountain Road and a Prayer
The third day of my road trip found me crawling along at a snail’s pace on a bumpy, leaf-strewn one-lane dirt road clinging to the side of a mountain in Pisgah National Forest. I prayed pavement would come quickly and that God would protect me from falling off the edge.
Mountain driving has historically triggered high anxiety, even panic, in me. This moment was no exception. I was trying to keep calm as daylight faded, rushing to reach my campsite without losing control. To my relief, pavement soon appeared after my prayer. “Thank you Lord!” I praised.
I pulled into the small campground about twenty minutes later, my hands still trembling from the white-knuckle drive. The scent of dry autumn leaves hung in the air as I navigated the campground, sites scattered haphazardly among the trees. The surrounding forest was thick and protective—tall pines towering overhead, their branches creating a cathedral of green and gold in the fading light. I felt small, but in a good way.
After searching for my campsite for some time without success, one of the camp hosts, Tom, arrived on a golf cart to guide me there and explain where things were in his quaint southern accent.
What Kindness Taught Me About Seeing People
Shortly after I began to set up (which wasn’t much of a chore considering I was sleeping in my car), my host came back and offered me an available rustic cabin because it was supposed to rain that night. So thoughtful! AND THEN, to top it all off, his wife Carrie offered the next evening as well! I was blown away with their generosity and gladly accepted!
The first three days of my road trip reinforced something I’ve learned over years of faith and travel: kindness interrupts our assumptions about strangers and places. Around the same time, I’d finished reading a book called Son of Hamas, which was a beautiful and fascinating memoir that showed me God working in unexpected places and unexpected ways, encouraging me to see people as PEOPLE.
What struck me most was the reminder that the problem is the same for everyone—sin. It is not others. It’s not Israelis or Palestinians. Not the left or right. Not black or white. Satan is the enemy and he delights when we hate each other instead of recognizing this truth.
This is what my travels have shown me so far: it’s not all about the destination, but more about gaining perspective and seeing people as they truly are.
From Wanderlust to Purpose
The next evening, I sat outside my cabin beside the quiet river, watching the changing leaves and listening to the water run over rocks. I noticed the RVers around me and began to think about my own journey on this road trip, wondering what the point of life is if we aren’t spending it with God and others? I believe that’s what we were made for—being with God and others, enjoying and contributing to relationships. It made me think back to a time when travel felt empty.
Marshall and I traveled A LOT one particular year several years ago. Despite my love of exploring, I remember reaching the end of that year feeling hollow and aimless. I wasn’t working or contributing in ways I found meaningful—just chasing experiences nonstop. Something in me longed to give more, to do more.
I long to be a part of a community—people who know me, whom I know, and with whom I can live in meaningful contribution and connection. Sitting there near the water, I didn’t have answers. Just a quiet knowing that constant motion without rootedness eventually hollows me out. A successful life, to me, means living creatively, exploring intentionally, contributing meaningfully, and staying rooted in community.
Confronting Fear on Pisgah’s Winding Roads
I left the cabin the next afternoon to drive through the Pisgah National Forest to the Blue Ridge Parkway. As I pulled onto the mountain road, I noticed my breathing was steady. My hands weren’t trembling on the wheel like they had been the day before. I took it slow—maybe 25 miles per hour instead of my usual white-knuckle crawl—but I wasn’t fighting the road.
Somewhere between the first switchback and the summit vista, something shifted. I wasn’t trying to outrun my fear anymore. I was just… driving. Breathing. Looking at the mountains. When I reached an overlook, I got out of the car and actually said “Woohoo!” as I threw my hands in the air. I’d done it! I was SO proud of myself and thanked God for His protection and strength.
That’s when it all came together—Tom and Carrie’s kindness, the lesson from Son of Hamas, the prayer on that dirt road, and the peaceful drive on the Blue Ridge Parkway. Transformation doesn’t happen in constant motion. It happens when you slow down enough to notice what’s already unfolding—when fear loosens its grip, when kindness surprises you, when the road feels less threatening than it did the day before.
I am so grateful that the Lord is always near me and brings transformation and peace—and even in the storm, praise Him. (Remember this, Ash.)