Lauterbrunnen, Switzerland
Date: June 12, 2022
The first time I stepped into Lauterbrunnen, I had no idea it would become one of the most sacred places in my life. I came with my older brother Austin and my lifelong friend Nick. We spent three days exploring the valley—walking its quiet streets, sipping coffee beneath the falls, and soaking in the stillness of a place that feels plucked from another world. The towering cliffs, the 72 waterfalls whispering from above, the sound of cowbells echoing across the green—all of it felt too perfect to be real. Lauterbrunnen wasn’t just a destination. It was a threshold.
On our second-to-last morning, Austin and Nick were still asleep from a long night at the pub. But I couldn’t stay in bed. I was too full of energy, wonder—urgency. Something in me needed to move, to witness, to feel. I quietly left our accommodation, grabbed one of the electric bikes we had rented, and rode alone into the waking valley.
As the wheels hummed beneath me and the air filled my lungs, I suddenly felt overwhelmed. The beauty was too much. The cliffs, the meadows, the thunder of Staubbach Falls—it cracked something open inside me. A deep, quiet wave of emotion rose up, and I began to cry. Not from sadness. But from joy—pure, raw, undeniable joy. For the first time in my life, I cried tears of gratitude. Gratitude for all of it: the heartbreak, the injuries, the detours, the doubt. Every ounce of pain from the past year had led me to that exact moment of wholeness.
I kept riding until I reached the end of the valley—Stechelberg, where the mountains gather close and the road narrows into trail. I locked my bike to a post, looked up at the peaks towering above me, and knew I had to climb. With no water, no food, and no plan—just a hunger for the heights—I started hiking the steep trail toward Gimmelwald.
Switchback after switchback, I felt myself tiring. I hadn’t prepared. My body protested. But I kept climbing, praying aloud for strength—and especially for water. And every time I prayed, a natural waterfall appeared, as if summoned. I cupped my hands, drank from the earth, and kept walking. It felt like grace pouring down the mountain in response to faith.
Eventually, I reached the top, breathless and humbled. There stood the Mountain Hostel, like a haven waiting for me. I sat and took in the view, drenched in sweat, awe, and a kind of spiritual fullness I’d never known before. Something in me had shifted.
I didn’t know it then, but this day would become the beginning of a much larger journey—one that would bring me back exactly a year later, to be baptized in Wengen, overlooking this same valley. This was the day I began to shed my past and walk into the life I was meant to live. This was the day I was reminded that every trial had purpose. Every fall had meaning. And that sometimes, when you follow the path without a plan, you find yourself exactly where God needs you to be.
