July 30, 2010

The Climb

I am walking slowly along. The wind at my back and the grass soft beneath my feet. The sun is shining overhead, radiating joy into my soul. Suddenly the terrain turns rough. Rocks and tree roots block my path and the sky darkens with clouds. It becomes too dark to see the road ahead of me, and I stumble, unprepared for the downhill slope. Now I am spiraling, down and down, rocks and thorns grabbing at my arms and legs and ripping the peace away from me. There is nothing to cling to, no place to plant my feet. All security is lost and I have no sense of where I will go next. When finally I find a place to stand and get my bearings, the earth crumbles beneath me and I am falling hopelessly down. And down and down. When there is nowhere left to fall I lay crinkled on the ground, searching for any sign of life left within me. My body aches. I feel broken and battered and torn. The bottom of this hill is bitterness and strife, heartache and loneliness. I walk along, between the cactus pricks and the thorn bushes, searching for a way back to my peaceful meadow in the sun. There is nowhere to go but up. I begin to climb. The pain in my legs causes me to wince at first, and I long to go back to the bottom. When I turn my head and see the dreary, suffocating expanse at the bottom I turn back and begin again to climb. After hours of merciless hiking up the steep hill my legs begin to quit. I cannot climb one more step. I fall to the ground, struggling to inhale and longing to go back to the bottom. Just at this moment a beautiful women steps out of the trees, extending a warm hand to me. She sits with me and listens to the pain I have endured, and I burden her with the sad details of this recent danger. This woman holds me in her arms, then hands me a container of water. I drink. I drink so much I am sure I have finished all of her precious water. Looking down I find that the container is still completely full. I thank the kind woman, renewed in strength and determination to ascend to the beautiful meadow above. She insists I keep the water, and disappears. I begin to climb. With every step I contemplate the lasting benefits of the water, the boundless love and kindness of the women in the trees. A tiny sample of the happiness I felt in the meadow returns to my heart. But, as it always does, my energy begins to fade and again I find myself drained and wishing I could go back to the bottom. Why did I ever think I could make it to the top? It’s too hard. The path too steep, the terrain too treacherous. As I begin to turn, committing myself to the life of loneliness and suffering, I see another woman step out of the trees. This time she carries a loaf of bread. “I cannot go on.” I tell this woman, knowing she will agree. Quietly, she hands me her bread. I eat and I eat, the taste indescribable. When I finish the bread the quiet woman hands me another, and another. I feel renewed, ready to conquer the torturous mountain, no longer afraid. Before I have the chance to thank the woman for the strength she offered me through the bread, I see her disappear into the trees. I begin to climb. With every step the view becomes more magnificent and I feel sure my meadow is just ahead. The trickling of a stream is music to my ears, the song of a bird a symphony. But, as it always does, the darkness begins to deepen, and I begin to feel afraid. Echoes of night creatures haunt me as I wish I could go back to the bottom. How will I ever find peace again? With the night so dark and the fear so real, how can I ever escape? When I am ready to lie down and give up the fight I hear a voice, calling me by name, saying “I’ve got you, little one. Just keep going, keep trying.” I call back to the voice, “I cannot go on.” My attention is turned to the water still in my right hand, and the bread still in my left. Silently, hopefully, I feast. Life is restored in me as I partake of these emblems that have so frequently changed my course, strengthened my resolve and my body. I stand, asking the voice, “But which way should I go?” As the sun peaks over the horizon my eyes rest upon the triumphant view of peonies and xeranthemums. My peaceful meadow. I made it back. Joy overflows my heart, pulsing through my veins. I fall to my knees in gratitude knowing I never would have found peace without the Living Water, the Bread of Life, and the voice of the Shepard. While I know this is the meadow from before, the sky blue overhead and the grass soft beneath my feet, I know that it will never be the same. My journey has strengthened me, made me capable of feeling more intense joy than I would ever have imagined. I turn my head, noticing a landscape I have never before seen. Mountains and valleys span thousands of miles in front of me, beyond the bounds of my eye sight. I know the Shepard is waiting for me past those frightening hills. Overwhelmed by the task in front of me I partake again of the emblems, and I begin to climb.