The Cartographer Who Ran Out of Comparisons

In 1856, British surveyor Andrew Waugh sat at his desk in Dehradun, India, staring at calculations that defied every mountain he had ever measured. Peak XV, hidden behind the closer ranges of Nepal, had been triangulated at 29,002 feet. Waugh had spent years cataloging the Himalayas, naming peaks by comparing them to one another — this one taller than that one, this ridge like a smaller version of that ridge. But Peak XV broke every frame of reference. There was simply nothing to set beside it. No comparable summit existed on Earth. He eventually named it Everest, after his predecessor, because the mountain itself resisted description by comparison.

David found himself in a similar position in his prayer before the Lord. God had just promised to establish David's house forever — a shepherd boy's family line stretching into eternity. David, who had composed songs comparing God to a rock, a shield, a fortress, finally ran out of metaphors. He could only say, "There is no one like You, and there is no God but You."

This was not poetic exaggeration. It was a cartographer's confession. David had measured the faithfulness of the Almighty against every power he had encountered — Goliath's strength, Saul's armies, the fortified walls of Jebus — and found that God towered beyond all comparison. Sometimes the most honest theology is simply standing speechless before the incomparable One, whispering what David whispered: there is none like You.