Faith | A resolute ‘belly crawl’ can find a path through life’s chaos

Dawn slipped over the ridgeline far above me, the gray light barely revealing Blue Creek, far below. Misty shadows rose across the valley as I worked my way up the steep ridge.

My son, Ryan, was somewhere off to my left, two or three ridges away, clawing his own way up the mountain. I wanted him to experience the kind of adventure I have savored for decades.

The Blue Mountains are rugged and scenic, with deep canyons, rolling hills and dark timbered plateaus spanning about 4,000 square miles. For much of my life I have probed and explored its peaks, creek bottoms and ravines.

None of its landscape is easy. Even the initial ascent was unforgiving.

I pushed upward, taking big breaths as my boots searched for footing on loose rock. The real challenge was in the draws and ravines that scratched deep into the mountainside. I wondered where Ryan was in his climb and what obstacles he faced.

I worked my way around a ridge into a narrow gully clogged with thick brush. The tangle ahead of me looked impenetrable. But I’d learned something from decades of treks in wild places like this: the closer you get, the more a trail will reveal itself. You have to move into the mystery of the mess to see the path forward.

Dropping to my knees, I pushed forward, parting the undergrowth. I was now crawling on my belly, pushing through branches and brush that closed in like a tunnel.

Part of me was saying, “This is nuts,” while something deeper was saying, “I love this!”

Suddenly, there was a crash just ahead of me.

Bursting through the tangle, a black bear’s head emerged. Its muzzle was wet, eyes beady and dark, locking onto mine not five-feet ahead. With no other plan, I yelled—a primal, guttural roar born of shock.

In the blink of an eye, the bear recoiled, snapping branches as it retreated, vanishing into the green maze. (Had it seen an angel over my shoulder?) When Ryan and I finally emerged onto the ridge, I told him the story. We laughed, thanked God, and then we rested.

Even when the path looks impossible, there’s always a way through. At first glance, it looks like sheer chaos. An impermeable barrier. But up close, a path opens—even if it means yelling at bears and crawling on your belly.

I recalled my own trials. Like having to return from our missionary work in Japan much sooner than I envisioned. The financial support for my family had dropped like a rock. We returned home, scraping by with no money and no immediate means of assistance, not knowing how we would get by. Those days felt like belly-crawling through briars. But the Holy Spirit helped us and persistence paid off.

We kept moving forward.

The Bible echoes this truth repeatedly. In Isaiah 43:19, God promises, “See, I am doing a new thing! Now it springs up; do you not perceive it? I am making a way in the wilderness and streams in the wasteland.”

I am thinking of Job who belly-crawled through the dense thicket of suffering, loss, and trials, yet remained faithful to God. The apostle Paul faced mind-numbing thickets of opposition. He was beaten, stoned, slandered, shipwrecked and forced to languish in prison and chains when he longed to be spreading the Gospel. Yet he pushed forward with a resilience that echoes through the centuries.

These stories aren’t just ancient tales; they’re God’s grace-delivered blueprints for endurance, maps of encouragement when there seems to be no way out, no way forward, and no way through.

Mountains yield and walls part to those who advance in Christ. No need for grand heroics; sometimes, a belly crawl suffices. In the tangled chaos of reality, perseverance cuts the path.

And as the Bible shouts, even in the wildest places, a way emerges.

Rev. Micah Smith is president and founder of Global Gateway Network (globalgatewaynetwork.org). Questions and comments should be directed to editor Lucy Luginbill in care of the Tri-City Herald newsroom. Email lluginbill@tricityherald.com.