The Art of Tripping and Trusting
Stumble, laugh, trust, repeat.
Switzerland, where do I even begin? No picture or sentence could ever hold the way you made me feel. I haven’t truly felt on top of the world in such a long time—yet somehow, you brought me there. (I mean, the Swiss Alps are pretty much the highest you can get, so that helped. But you know what I mean—it was the same kind of high I felt winning a softball state championship in high school. Or being on ESPN as my college mascot. Or on a more honest and deeper level, on my wedding day, back when I thought forever really meant forever. (… and I’ll never shy away from truly loving that day. I did my best with what I thought I knew at the time, and that’s ok.) Or even later—after everything fell apart—when I finally realized I wasn’t just surviving the heartbreak, but somehow, against all odds, I was actually thriving through it.)
For the first time in a long time, I realized my dreams weren’t as far away as I had believed. Standing atop these mountains—hiking, wandering, getting lost—I still found myself at the crossroad between being present where I am and aching for the life I hope for in the future. Yet somehow, it felt less like a struggle and more like recognition. Or for the first time, maybe a peaceful acceptance.
You see, the mountains, the peaks, the quiet moments along the trails all whispered hope is still alive—steady, patient, and very much so present regardless of my position in this world. Switzerland calmed something to my core. Ya know, maybe, after all the wandering and waiting, I am exactly where I’m meant to be, moving slowly and surely toward wherever I am meant to go, even if I cannot yet see the destination.
…and yes, I say that every time I post here, but somehow, every time, the “ah hah!” moment of this thought feels brand new. Bare with me.
On one of those hikes, as I wandered through the mountains letting it all sink in for the millionth time, I stumbled upon a scene so breathtaking it seemed to hold every bit of that hope I’d been feeling and finding again so firmly and obviously. Lake Oeschinensee is a hike that sneaks up on you. Kind of like these sparks of hope do. You start at the base of the mountain, winding your way upward, only to find yourself suddenly descending. And then—through jagged, glacier-topped peaks and towering pines—a lake appears. Nestled in the heart of the mountains, it’s impossibly turquoise, so clear it almost doesn’t feel real. For a moment, the world paused, letting you take it all in: the colors, the crisp mountain air, the sheer perfection of this lake tucked right there in the middle of the Alps.
And in that moment, I felt something I can only describe as meeting Jesus intimately. Now, I know not everyone shares the same beliefs about God or faith—and that’s okay—but for me, it was as if not just the peaks or the waters were staring back at me, but He Himself. I know He’s everywhere, all the time—but on this trail, I really felt Him all around me. I was captivated. I couldn’t stop thinking: holy heck—God created THIS.
(And if you ever have an experience like that, I hope you might find Him too, in whatever way that may look like.)
And then, in that silly, human way, I wondered: wait… why did He even create me? This is way better. Especially after everything that’s happened? SOS. (The spiral my thoughts sometimes take catches me out of nowhere. Working on that.)
It’s no secret that I’ve been wrestling with both my thoughts and my faith these past few years—not necessarily doubting my beliefs, but wrestling with the tension between what I want, what I think God wants, and what life has been throwing at me. It’s made me second-guess Jesus, question His timing, His plan. But maybe that’s the whole point of faith: doubt is inevitable. Shit things are going to happen. But choosing to trust anyway? That’s where faith steps up and in.
So then, like I’ve found myself doing quite a few times on this solo journey, Jesus and I had another ole chat. Okay, maybe more like a yelling match again: what the heck am I doing? What are YOU doing? Where’s the family we talked about, the companionship I’ve dreamed of? Why create me, break me, take it all away, and then leave me wandering, quite literally, in the middle of these mountains? And then—I tripped. No joke. Like, a pretty bold tumble. Over what?
A baby pacifier.
And in that absurd little moment, I laughed, and somehow it hit me: maybe dreams don’t vanish when life takes a detour. Sure, maybe the path is just different than I imagined, but no less real. Maybe hope—my hopes for the future—are still within reach. And in that, I felt a quiet kind of peace: that even in the messiness, the missteps, the doubts, I’m moving forward. Still dreaming. Still alive to possibility. Still trusting that it will all happen - just better than I could ever imagine for myself. The pacifier was what I like to call a little “God Wink”.
…And maybe He didn’t take it all away. Maybe, in the end, He actually saved me.
Now, I know life is more than companionship and family. First, you really have to meet yourself. And maybe that’s exactly where I’m at right now. Meeting myself. Of course, I’d love to skip to the end scene—where it all comes together. I’m an impatient person (who knew?). But it’s easy to get impatient when, at one point, you thought you were already living the dream you’d always wanted: married, starting a family—only to lose both within the same year. And on top of that, everyone around you seems to be moving forward—getting married, having kids—while it feels like you’re standing still. S t u c k.
Except maybe I’m not stuck—and if you’re in a similar space, stumbling through what feels like a really long season, you aren’t either. Maybe that’s the beauty of it? Maybe the detours, the solo hikes, the moments of doubt, the absurd little pacifier-tripping moments—they’re all part of the journey of figuring out who we are on our way to where we’re supposed to end up. I think we often forget that when we’re caught in the disappointment or confusion along the way.
But slowly, step by step, both those things are teaching me what I need to know right now: that dreams are not lost, that hope is alive, and that meeting yourself along the way is just as important as reaching the summit. Maybe, just maybe, that’s exactly what life wants us to do before the next chapter begins.
So, if I had to reintroduce myself—to myself, or to you—or if we’re just now meeting for the first time—I’d simply say: I’m (still) Haley. But on a deeper level, underneath that, I’d say:
Hi, I’m Haley. I’m someone who’s been burned, broken, and refined—carrying scars and strength I’m still learning to understand. I believe in God, but that doesn’t mean I haven’t had my doubts along the way. This chapter feels like a whole different kind of refining than the one I went through after my divorce—one that’s about truly moving forward, believing again, and trusting that what’s next is worth it. I’ve also learned that the refining process never really ends; it just recycles, shaping us again and again. And through it all, three things have stayed consistent—things I’ve held onto since day one: my sometimes shaky faith (but faith, nonetheless), unwavering hope, and resilient character. They’re essential, and they always have been.
And maybe, on our journeys, we’ll have to reintroduce ourselves—to ourselves and to one another—more than once, the more we learn and live.
So, whether you’re in a season of a solo journey like me—or not necessarily solo, but maybe just struggling to find that hope I mentioned earlier—I’m not saying you have to climb to the top of the Swiss Alps to find it or have a super firm faith. (Though, I won’t lie—it does help.) Maybe the trick is just to look up instead of kicking the rocks beneath your feet. I’ve found that the longer your head stays raised, the more you’ll see what’s ahead: hope staring back at you, shoulders squared, confidence and trust quietly refreshing, and your dreams waiting for you just around the corner. The pace toward it all may not be a sprint, but let the journey be exactly what it needs to be. (ps - someone remind me of this when I’m trying to run instead of walk, it happens!).
And lastly, maybe most importantly? Give yourself grace along the entire journey—it’s not a straight shot, and that’s more than okay. Be honest with yourself about your faith—or your doubts—and don’t shy away from the frustration, the anger, or the moments that make you question everything. Feeling it all, talking it out, leaning into the process… that’s where the growth happens. That’s where hope quietly waits for you to notice it.
And when you finally reach those dreams, know it won’t feel like the end—it’ll feel like the start of a whole new hike.
Keep on walkin’.
Xoxo, Haley
