When the Mountain Came Down

On May 18, 1980, Mount St. Helens exploded with the force of 500 atomic bombs. The blast flattened 230 square miles of old-growth forest in under ten minutes. Trees that had stood for centuries lay down like matchsticks. Spirit Lake, once a pristine vacation destination, was buried under 600 feet of debris. Geologist David Johnston, stationed six miles away at an observation post, radioed his final words: "Vancouver! Vancouver! This is it!"

The mountain — which hikers had climbed, photographers had admired, and locals had taken for granted — simply dissolved. What seemed permanent and immovable turned out to be fragile before a force far greater than itself.

The psalmist understood this. "The mountains melt like wax before the LORD, before the Lord of all the earth." Every structure we treat as permanent — our economies, our empires, our carefully constructed certainties — stands only at the pleasure of the Almighty. Clouds and thick darkness surround Him, yet righteousness and justice anchor His throne. We cannot always see what He is doing, but we can trust the foundation beneath it.

And here is the stunning thing: this same God who melts mountains invites us to rejoice. The Most High, exalted far above all the earth, does not rule as a distant tyrant. He reigns — and the proper response is gladness. The power that levels mountains is the same power that holds you steady.