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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