The Mountain Climb
I remember dragging myself,
tearing and writhing and bleeding.
The rocky path reached up at me,
my fair, thin skin ripped to shreds,
a tattered blanket, a white flag fluttering in the wind.
The boulder of negativity rolled over me,
squishing any hope that inflated my flat soul.
I remember struggling up a steep, rocky mountain slope.
I remember death, fear, anxiety, depression, anger, guilt, regret, hopelessness, a future,
all pushing me back down the hill.
I remember God watching, and I forgot he was,
forgot to ask for help or advice.
I remember people telling me I could do it,
but it was just noise, or a bandaid on a weeping wound.
Then I saw a friendly face.
I remember grabbing his hand, and we helped each other up the mountain,
pushing and pulling as we struggled over (or around) our own obstacles.
I reached many peaks, finding that from my low view, I could not see that I was climbing a mountain RANGE!
Even from the top, there are hills and spires and crevices and abysses that never end.
I cannot see everything.
I don’t know if he or Him will stay with me the whole way, if I will be alone, or if he or Him will never leave me.
I hope they stay a rather long time, and I hope I reach the final landmark, no matter how long I spend in a certain spot.
I remember pain, a smile, revelation, a hope.
I don’t want to be alone, yet I’m coping with traveling at different speeds with him,
waiting for him even if I leave him behind or I am trying to keep up.
I know there is more than him, but I am not looking forward right now.
I am enjoying the climb.
I remember a mountain.
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