The Mountain Mover: When God Doesn't Just Move Mountains

They say God can move mountains. But sometimes He doesn't just move them. He chews them up and spits them out.

The Mountain

After arriving at Concord Baptist Church as the new Media Director, I immediately ran into struggles. The kind that make you question if you made the right decision. The kind that make you wonder if this mountain is too big to climb.

The media team had been slowly leaving over time. Morale was low. Trust was broken. And the previous Media Director had been asked to step down—which was the final straw for many. I walked into a situation that most people would have walked right back out of.

I had a tough mountain in front of me.

Philip's Stand

But I wasn't alone. Philip—one of the guys on the team—stood up for me from day one.

I remember him talking to Rick, one of the key leaders at the church. Philip looked him in the eye and said, "This guy is a good guy. He will take good care of us."

Later, Philip pulled me aside and told me something that I'll never forget. He said the only reason he stayed at Concord was because he heard I was coming. (Read more about divine appointments and ministry connections.)

That meant more to me than he probably realized. In a moment when everything felt uncertain, when the mountain felt insurmountable, someone believed in me. Someone stayed because of me. Someone was willing to give me a chance.

The Red Flag

My first conversation with Rick was pleasant enough. But there was a red flag. A big one.

I remember Rick's words like they were yesterday. Words that defied every part of who I am as an entrepreneur and innovator:

"We've been doing it this way for 20 years. Why change?"

I smiled and waved in an understanding manner. Nodded politely. But in my head, I was thinking, I would change my entire process to save myself 20 seconds.

As I went home that day, I wrestled with this concept. How do you bring innovation to a place that's been doing things the same way for two decades? How do you move forward when the culture is built on "we've always done it this way"?

I didn't have an answer. Not yet.

The Hy-Vee Moment

The next day, I was at the Hy-Vee restaurant. Just grabbing some food, minding my business. And who do I see walk in? Rick. And his buddy.

No way, I thought to myself. What are the odds?

I walked over, said hi, made some playful banter about the Kansas City Royals hat Rick had on. We chatted for a minute, and then they left. Just a random, casual encounter at a grocery store restaurant.

Except it wasn't.

A few minutes after they left, I noticed an over-the-shoulder bag laying on the seat where Rick's buddy had been sitting. They'd left it behind.

I quickly called Rick. No answer. I texted him: "Hey, I think your buddy left his bag here." I grabbed the bag and waited.

A few moments later, Rick walked back in with his friend. They were visibly relieved. Rick asked if there was some way they could repay me or give me a reward.

I was confused. A reward? For just letting him know they left a bag?

That's when Rick's friend explained: his life-saving medication was in that bag. Along with all his money.

I didn't find a bag. I found someone's lifeline.

Ever since that moment, Rick tried to move mountains for me the same way God had moved a mountain for me in that restaurant. The resistance I'd felt in our first conversation? Gone. The "we've always done it this way" mindset? Softened. Rick became one of my biggest supporters.

God didn't just move the mountain. He chewed it up and spit it out.

Festival of Light

Over the next few months, Philip and I grew closer. We worked tirelessly together preparing for the Festival of Light—Concord's annual Christmas drama. Four months of planning, setup, rehearsals, tech runs, problem-solving.

And then, finally, it was over. The event was a success. My schedule slowed down. I could breathe again.

The STL Trip

One Thursday, Philip hit me up. "Hey, want to ride to St. Louis with me to pick up a sink for my Hillbilly Hydration camper?"

Hillbilly Hydration. I had to know more.

Turns out, it's a mobile response unit for IV fluids. Philip and his wife are EMTs, nurses, and have been firefighters. They use the camper to provide emergency medical care at events, disaster relief, wherever it's needed.

As we drove, we talked business ideas, ministry connections, life stories. And then I mentioned something that had been on my heart for years.

"My step-dad was in a plane accident."

Philip looked at me. "When?"

"About seven years ago."

He paused. Then asked, "Was this an old World War II plane?"

My heart stopped.

"Yep."

The Connection

Philip was there. He was one of the first responders to my step-dad's plane crash seven years earlier.

The man who stood up for me on my first day at Concord. The man who said he stayed because he heard I was coming. The man who became my friend and partner in ministry. That man had saved my step-dad's life seven years before we ever met.

And neither of us knew it until that random Thursday drive to St. Louis.

You can't tell me that's coincidence. You can't tell me that's random chance. You can't tell me God wasn't orchestrating every single detail of this story long before I ever walked into Concord Baptist Church.

The Mountain Mover

When I arrived at Concord, I saw a mountain. An impossible situation. A broken team. Resistance to change. Uncertainty everywhere.

But God saw something different. He saw Philip, who would stand with me. He saw Rick, who would become my ally after a divine appointment at Hy-Vee. He saw connections that spanned seven years, crossing state lines and life events in ways I couldn't have imagined.

The Lord didn't just move that mountain. He took the mountain, chewed it up, and spit it out.

Because that's what God does. He doesn't just make a way. He orchestrates. He connects. He works behind the scenes in ways we won't understand until we're driving down the highway seven years later and suddenly realize He's been writing the story all along.

So when you face your mountain, remember: God doesn't just move mountains. He's already been working on your behalf in ways you won't see until you look back and realize it was never about the mountain at all. If you're seeking a church community where God is actively moving, explore Jefferson City's amazing churches.

It was always about the connections He was making. The people He was positioning. The story He was writing.

And that's worth more than moving any mountain.