The Company You Keep: A Note from the Holy Hill

A dissertation reflection on Psalm 15:3 and the village that climbs with us

The whole dissertation has been submitted for committee review. The waiting is brutal.

This isn't the ordinary waiting of traffic lights or grocery store lines. This is waiting combined with silence that sits heavy on your chest. It's the kind of waiting where your life's work exists somewhere beyond your control, being scrutinized by minds you respect but cannot read.

I keep myself occupied with reference checking and formatting. One chapter has taken me a day and a half to complete, the academic equivalent of nervous pacing, but productive pacing nonetheless. There's this underlying terror that my committee will unearth some truth that is irreconcilable, that my world will collide with the unknown and leave me in the dissertation matrix indefinitely.

But then there's the other kind of anticipation - the hope that nothing will surprise me, that I have done all with integrity, and that what I don't know will be caught by the village I've carefully assembled around this work.

Notes from the Ascent

Psalm 15 begins with a question: "Lord, who may dwell in your sacred tent? Who may live on your holy hill?" It's a question about arrival, about reaching the summit. But I'm writing this from somewhere in the middle of the climb, still ascending, still learning what it means to choose companions for the journey.

Verse 3 gives us one piece of the answer: those who "do not slander with their tongue, nor do evil to their neighbor, nor take up a reproach against their friend."

When I first read this, it sounded like moral advice, be nice, don't gossip, treat people well. But now, sitting in this vulnerable space of waiting, I see something deeper. These aren't just character traits for their own sake. These are the actual qualities that make someone trustworthy when you're exposed and climbing.

When you're in the brutal middle of becoming, whether it's a dissertation, a career transition, recovery, parenthood, or any other significant ascent, you need people around you who won't tear you down with their words, who won't exploit your vulnerability, who won't pick up accusations against you when you can't defend yourself.

The Village Approach

Between my chair, the committee, the librarian, peer reviewers, an upcoming writing exchange, and yes, a very expensive dissertation mentor, I've built what I call a village approach. No single person can catch everything, but together, they've ensured I haven't been writing in a silo.

This wasn't accidental. It was intentional community building.

The expensive mentor was a choice made from scarcity mindset that turned into abundance. The peer reviewers were relationships cultivated over years. The committee was carefully selected not just for expertise but for character, people who embody that Psalm 15:3 quality of not taking up reproach against a friend.

I'm learning that the company you keep literally shapes the quality of your work and the integrity of your process. When you're vulnerable and ascending, you need people who will sharpen you like iron sharpens iron, not people who will diminish you when you're already feeling small.

The Unsticking Medicine

I'm writing this as an unpolished participant, not as someone who has arrived. I don't have the verdict from my committee yet. I don't know if my world will hold together or need rebuilding. I'm still in the uncertain middle.

But here's what I'm learning about getting unstuck: sometimes we stay stuck not because we lack ability or even opportunity, but because we're trying to climb alone or with the wrong companions.

If you're stuck, look around. Who's in your village? Are they people who speak life or death over your becoming? Do they catch your work with careful hands or handle it carelessly? When you're vulnerable, do they protect your process or exploit your uncertainty?

The holy hill isn't just a destination, it's a community. And the character of those who walk with us shapes not just whether we arrive, but who we become along the way.

The waiting is still brutal. The silence still heavy. But I haven't been writing alone in the dark, and neither do you have to climb that way.

Selah.

Pastor Renée

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Contemplative Pause: What villages are you building around your own ascent? Who are the people speaking into your becoming?