You are that Mexican freight train running along the carretera from San Miguel to Querétaro, first stationary as it was loaded up, then picking up speed toward its destination.
You are that freight train loaded up with precious cargo, the heavier the weight, the greater the engine power required. But once the train is ready and the track clear, all systems go and the wheels set in motion, then momentum builds and carries the weight forward in its own self-propelling inertia, which is greater than the engine power of the train alone.
What weighs you down and holds you back on the incline will be what carries you forward with a force not your own over the top of the hill. Press into the weight of resistance, lean into the mountain against you, for soon you will reach the summit and then no air or heaven or geographical principality will be able to detain your advance.
This is the slow start of engine gears shifting, of rusty wheels grinding from a standstill, of being at this mountain long enough, and now is the creaking time to move out, no matter what slowness of spirit or body or battle comes at you. At least it is movement, and forward.
That is enough for praise, in these crushing and dusty days.