Guatemala had been calling my name for years — ever since I wrote “summit an erupting volcano” on my bucket list. When I saw photos of Volcan de Fuego spewing molten fire into the night sky, I knew it was time. So, I booked the trip, packed my backpack, and went solo. The moment I arrived in Antigua, I was hooked. The streets were lined with vibrant buildings and cobblestones that echoed with history. I wandered the colorful town beneath towering volcanoes, feeling that deep mix of nerves and excitement that comes right before you chase something you’ve dreamed about for years.

The next morning, the climb began. Within the first 30 minutes, my legs burned and my lungs screamed. The trail was steep, coated in volcanic dust that made every step feel like sliding backward. However, I refused to stop. Every step was a silent promise to myself that I would finish what I came for. Four hours later, we broke through the clouds, and there it was — fire bursting from the earth, glowing orange against the fading sky.

I stood there in total awe, surrounded by strangers who felt like family after the climb. The wind was cold, my hands were shaking, but my heart felt completely still. Watching an active volcano erupt from above the clouds didn’t just feel like checking off a bucket list goal — it felt like standing in the middle of something divine. It was raw, alive, and humbling all at once. In that moment, I understood what it meant to witness one of God’s most powerful creations in motion. As ash drifted through the air, I knew I’d just lived one of those rare moments that changes you forever.