Paul asked God to move a mountain.
He called it a thorn in his flesh. Three times he asked God to take it away. Three times, the answer wasn't removal.
"My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness."
That's not a no. It's not a yes, either. It's something most of us aren't prepared to receive: the mountain stays, and the answer to the prayer comes anyway — just not in the shape we asked for.
This is the theological spine of MOUNTAINS DON'T MOVE. Not that God can't move mountains. He can, and He has, throughout Scripture — seas parted, dead raised, walls collapsed at the sound of trumpets. The God of MOUNTAINS DON'T MOVE is not a smaller God than the one who did all that.
But sometimes, His "yes" looks like sufficiency instead of removal.
"My power is made perfect in weakness."
Not in spite of the weakness. Through it. The mountain staying isn't evidence that God's power has limits — it's the exact condition His power chooses to work inside of. A removed mountain proves God can do something for you. A mountain that stays, with grace sufficient to carry you through it, proves something deeper: God can be enough.
Paul's response to the unmoved thorn wasn't resignation. It was something closer to a discovery: "Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ's power may rest on me."
That's the turn the whole arc is asking you to make. Not gladness that the mountain is there. Gladness that grace was sufficient anyway.
