How Trusting in the Path Ahead Inspired My Creative Journey
I have had a strong connection to Colorado’s culture since I visited the first time as a child. I remember seeing the mountain tops for the first time, thinking how grateful am I to glide across Gods creation. I loved the atmosphere, the open-ness, the tiny specks from the sky touching my cheeks, this gave me clarity, a landscape of pure white—free from the clutter of expectations and distractions, a place to reconnect with myself.
Years later I’m a small business owner from Texas, I felt overwhelmed; my energy was pulled in a million different directions. I had focused on my external beauty and egotistical tendencies for too long. I felt empty. I prayed, asking for some kind of sign or clarity in my life. I closed my business and my heart called me back to Colorado. I took the leap of faith and decided I would head to the place that my heart had been yearning for.
Halfway between my starting point and my destination God sent a storm. One moment, the road ahead was clear—just long stretches of flat highway stretching through New Mexico. Then, in an instant, the wind picked up, and thick clouds rolled in like an army. Snowflakes, large and heavy, began to swirl in the air, turning the world around me into a blur of white. The road, once just a gray ribbon stretching ahead, quickly vanished beneath a blanket of snow. My tires struggled for traction, slipping and sliding as I attempted to keep control of the car. The snow fell relentlessly, piling up against my windshield. It wasn’t just the blizzard outside—it was the overwhelming sense of isolation that gripped me. I lost all power. As the minutes passed, it became clear this wasn’t going to be a quick pause. I was stuck.
I sat there, in the quiet chaos of the storm, my car now a small island of warmth and safety amidst the freezing open-ness. I tried everything I could think of. I shifted the car into reverse, hoping to inch backward just enough to free myself from the snowbank. I tried rocking the car forward and back, hoping the tires would catch some traction, but the more I tried, the deeper I felt myself sinking into the snow. The frustration mounted. Here I was, trying to control something that was so far beyond my control. I had been driving for hours, full of purpose, eager to move forward, and now I was stuck. Stuck in a place I couldn’t move from, a place I hadn’t planned to be. The road ahead—once clear—felt impossibly distant. As the storm raged on, I sank back in my seat, staring out at the white blur beyond the window. The cold began to seep into the car, despite the heat running full blast, and the weight of the silence seemed to press against my chest.
It was hard to ignore the fact that I was stuck. Not just on the road, but in life. I had been racing ahead, chasing something—anything—to fill the emptiness I felt inside. The business, the external success, the approval of others. But now, here I was, stranded in a snowstorm, unable to move forward. Was this a sign? Was I being forced to stop, to reflect, to make a choice about which direction I was really heading?
Just as the storm seemed to be closing in, I heard a faint sound—tires crunching in the snow, a distant engine noise. I sat up, my heart racing with hope. I slowly rolled the window down, squinting through the whiteout. It was only a passing truck, but in that moment, I realized something important. I didn’t need to know exactly how I would get out of this mess. I didn’t need all the answers. What mattered was that I kept going, that I refused to let the storm stop me. Just like the challenges in my life—no matter how bleak they seemed, there was always a way through.
I was eventually towed out of the snow and had to turn back to the closest town to ride out the storm. I was stuck in New Mexico for 2 days. Sitting in that tiny town, I felt like everything had come to a halt. I was angry, confused, and unsure. I had been so certain of my path, yet here I was, stuck in a place that didn’t fit into the story I had written for myself. As I sat there, stranded in that small town, I felt a wave of despair. The world outside my window felt like it was moving forward, but I was unable to move, unsure of my purpose. The doubt crept in: Had I made the right decision? Was I being foolish to follow this path? But even in my frustration, I began to hear a small voice, telling me that this was not the end. It was a detour—a chance to reflect, to listen, and to choose again.
Romans 8:28: “Storms in Our Life Have a Purpose”.
On the 3rd day, the roads cleared and I resumed my drive. As I pulled away from that tiny New Mexico town, the open road stretched out before me, endless and unyielding. The flat plains gradually gave way to the jagged edges of distant mountains, their snow-capped peaks like silent sentinels guarding the path. The vastness of the landscape felt both intimidating and awe-inspiring—like the road was challenging me to keep moving, to face whatever came next. It was a strange mix of fear and excitement, as if the land itself was testing my resolve.
The miles melted away under my tires, but inside, I was still wrestling with myself. What was I doing? Had I made the right decision? There was a part of me that wanted to turn around and return to the safety of the life I had left behind. But another part, a quieter part, whispered that this was the moment of choice. Was I brave enough to follow the path that had called me, despite the uncertainty ahead? It wasn’t just the road that stretched before me—it was the unknown that I was driving toward, the unknown that I was terrified of but also, somehow, eager to embrace.
The road wound and twisted, curving through canyons and climbing steep hills, just as my mind had been doing for weeks. Every turn felt like a decision, every bump in the road a challenge to overcome. It was in the quiet moments—when the road seemed endless and the landscape stretched before me—that I started to see my own journey more clearly. Life wasn’t meant to be lived in straight lines. There would always be detours, obstacles, and unknowns, but those were the moments that would shape me into who I needed to become. The road ahead might be uncertain, but I knew I had to keep going.
Ephesians 3:20: “God will carry you through every storm in your life. And give you strength to make it”.
Making it to Colorado felt like a weight was lifted off my shoulders. It didn’t take me long to start exploring. The air was crisp, almost medicinal, as I stepped out of my car. I could hear the distant rush of the river, see the mountain peaks dusted with snow, and feel a quiet peace settle over me, like the earth was breathing with me. I didn’t have to search for answers anymore—they were there, in the stillness, in the beauty of the mountains. For the first time in years, I felt connected to something bigger than myself. I explored the community, went on walks and drives to find pretty things that caught my eye.
During my time in Colorado, I found a new sense of self. It wasn’t just about getting away or changing my surroundings—it was about embracing the things that I had neglected for so long. The mountains, the quiet of the small town, and the connections I made reminded me that personal growth often comes when we take the time to listen to our inner voice and trust the signs along the way.
I found a new beginning, a reason to count my blessings, a chance to look at how far I have come, I found peace and leisure in the journey. I’ve come to see my life as a mountain range. Some peaks are steep and hard to climb, others are gentle, easy to walk. But all of them have taught me something important. Whether I’m scaling a high summit or walking a smooth trail, I know now that I’m always moving upward, always learning and evolving. And when the storms roll in—whether it’s a literal storm or a moment of doubt—I have to trust that the clouds will eventually part, and the view from the top will be worth every step. I find peace in the fact I am highly supported and guided. Maintaining my faith is the root of it all.
I learned on this journey is that growth doesn’t happen in a straight line. It’s messy, it’s uncomfortable, and it’s often unpredictable. But every detour, every roadblock, and every storm carries a lesson. The storm in New Mexico wasn’t a setback—it was an invitation to pause, reflect, and make sure I was still aligned with my true calling. In life, sometimes we need that pause to reset our direction.
Psalms 107:28-31: Then they cried out to the LORD in their trouble, and he brought them out of their distress.
Whatever mountain you’re facing, whether it’s a big leap of faith or a small step forward, remember: the path might not always be clear, but you have the strength and guidance you need to keep moving. Trust in the journey, and know that every storm has a purpose.
This place isn’t just a destination—it’s a symbol of alignment. The soaring peaks remind me to look at life from a higher perspective, while the open plains and crisp air encourage me to stay grounded, embracing all the areas of my life where I am being guided to grow. Colorado has become more than a backdrop; it’s a living metaphor for transformation, connection, and trust in the journey.
I’m deeply grateful for the journey, for the mountains and the storms, for the people I’ve met along the way, and for the lessons that have shaped me into who I am. I hope you, too, can find peace and purpose on your own path. Trust the process, embrace the change, and know that you are supported—always.
Keep climbing your mountains—one step, one breath, one prayer at a time.
Mariah Kirbie 
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