Sometimes It Takes A Mountain

By Sola Adebawo

THERE is a quiet honesty in the song Sometimes It Takes a Mountain by the Gaither Vocal Band. It does not rush to victory or pretend that strength comes easily. It admits something many people only realise after a long season of struggle: sometimes growth does not come through comfort. Sometimes it comes through pressure. Sometimes it takes a mountain.

Most of us prefer progress that feels orderly — a plan, a smooth road, perhaps a few manageable bumps that reassure us we are still in control. But life rarely cooperates with that preference. Instead, it places something immovable in our path: a mountain that refuses shortcuts, a problem that does not respond to intelligence, connections, or effort. In that moment, something uncomfortable happens. We discover the limits of our own strength.

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That discovery can feel humiliating at first. The song captures it plainly: “I thought I could control whatever life would throw my way.” That line stings because it is true for many of us. We build competence. We accumulate experience. We become good at handling things. Over time, self-reliance quietly replaces dependence — not out of arrogance, but familiarity. We grow accustomed to winning small battles. Then the mountain shows up.

Sometimes that mountain is deeply personal. Other times, it is collective. A nation, like an individual, can drift into patterns of delay, denial, or half measures until something forces clarity. For Nigeria, the rising threat of terrorism became such a moment. Years of insecurity had stretched patience thin, but it was the stark reality of external pressure — including the threat and eventual bombing of terrorist hideouts by the United States — that jolted the system awake. It was uncomfortable, even exposing. Yet it achieved what gentle warnings often fail to do: it made inaction impossible.

Adversity has a way of stripping life down to what truly matters. When the mountain appears, distractions lose their shine. Pretences fall away. What once felt urgent suddenly feels secondary. You stop posturing. You stop explaining. You pray prayers that are simpler and more honest than the ones you prayed when things were going well — not polished prayers, just real ones.
That national moment mirrored a personal truth many of us recognise. When help arrives from outside, or when consequences become undeniable, pride gives way to urgency. The Nigerian government, confronted by the seriousness of the threat and the embarrassment of external intervention, rose with renewed resolve to confront insecurity with the gravity it deserved. The mountain forced a pause, and in that pause, priorities sharpened.

This is where breakthrough often begins, though it rarely feels like it at the time.

A mountain forces pause. It interrupts momentum. It compels reflection. You are no longer asking how fast you can move, but whom you can trust. The song does not suggest that God causes the mountain, but it does suggest that God uses it. That distinction matters. Adversity may not be the goal, but it can become the classroom.

Sometimes the breakthrough is external. A solution emerges. A door opens. A situation shifts in ways you could not engineer. At other times, it looks like coordinated action where there was once hesitation. But often, the deeper breakthrough is internal. Perspective changes. Priorities reorder themselves. Pride softens. Faith matures. You emerge different — not just relieved.

Consider how many defining moments in life trace back to seasons we would never voluntarily repeat: loss, failure, rejection, waiting longer than expected, standing at the edge of uncertainty with no clear map. Nations experience this too. Pressure exposes weakness, but it also clarifies resolve. These are rarely moments we celebrate while we are in them. Yet later, we speak of them with surprising clarity. That was the season we finally took the problem seriously. That was when excuses stopped working. That was when change became unavoidable.

The song also names other landscapes that shape us — troubled seas and deserts. Each represents a different kind of hardship. Some struggles are chaotic, like waves that arrive without warning. Others are dry and quiet, marked by waiting and silence. Yet the lesson remains the same: comfort rarely teaches dependence; ease rarely builds endurance.

There is something almost tender in the confession within the lyrics: “I need You, Lord, and I’m not ashamed to say.” Adversity removes the embarrassment around need. When you have tried everything else, asking for help no longer feels weak — it feels wise. The mountain teaches that strength does not come from control, but from surrender.

Breakthrough, then, is not always about the mountain moving. Sometimes it is about learning to stand differently before it — to trust when you cannot see over it, to believe when progress feels slow, and to rest in the knowledge that your limitations do not surprise God.

Sola Adebawo is an accomplished business leader and communications expert with extensive experience in the oil and gas industry. He currently serves as General Manager, Government, Joint Venture and External Relations at Heritage Energy. Adebawo is also an author, scholar and ordained minister, known for his writings on social and economic issues, strategic communication and leadership.