The journey

The path stretches ahead, long and winding. Slow and gently rolling at times. At other times it twists and turns, climbs and drops, doubles back on itself and even has knots tied in the path that I must traverse to reach my Savior.

I once thought it was an easy path. One that all I had to do was take a long road through a meandering countryside where the weather was perfect, the sun was shining and there were big white fluffy clouds in the sky.

I was wrong.

Trials and tribulations. That’s what we’re promised. Nothings fair, the road’s not wide and smooth, the path isn’t free of rocks and kinks, the weather isn’t all sunshine and pretty clouds at the perfect temperature. The weather comes in spurts of blizzards and hurricanes interspersed with sunshine. The path is narrow and hard to see at times. Sometimes I can stand up and walk, other times I crawl. Sometimes I have to dodge branches and brambles. And sometimes I must wiggle through knots in the path that are pulled so tight I don’t think I’ll be able to get through them.

In one hand I cling to the map that is the Word of God, with the other I reach toward Heaven begging my savior to take me by the hand and lead me where He wants me to go.

I’m going along just fine, stumbling here and there, taking the weather and the twists as they come. Then I round a bend in the path and there before me my rocky road is headed straight up a mountain bigger than Mt. Everest, covered in thick layers of ice, in the midst of a blizzard that obscures everything. I can faintly see what looks like a series of knots in the path, pulled so tight I can’t see a spot to wiggle through.

Maybe it’s the blizzard obscuring the openings, maybe it’s the mountain but something brings me to a halt. I stand on this path that I didn’t choose, seeking my Savior that I want more than anything and I know I’m about to fail. The temptation to look back and see if I can see the stretch of path that was all sunshine and easy going just a few steps back beckons. I don’t want to look back. I don’t want to go back. I like the path I’m on.

I stumble to a stop. Something inside warns me that this is about to get very, very difficult. My heart cries out to my Lord. Silently. Begging Him to clear the path. If only the path would stop here, if only I could stay in this place forever. But I can’t. I want to keep forging ahead, growing closer to my Lord. But the temptation is there none the less.

I take a few steps forward my hand stretched toward Heaven, my map now clutched tightly to my chest. And I stumble. Those aren’t small rocks on the path. They’re large and round, mixed with slick mud that tries to pull me in and hold me in place. I struggle to gain my footing and continue down the path. Mud latches onto my feet weighing me down, slowing my steps. Icy wind slams against me with every step. It blows through my clothes and bombards me until my fingers are frozen and I can no longer feel my feet.

And still I stumble forward.

But as that mountain looms before me, as those knots in the path grow ever closer my steps grow slower, my feet hit a patch of ice and as I slide back down the path my emotions take over. And my flesh begs to demand of my Creator what He was thinking. The questions flit through my mind to wonder why He gave me this path. When thorns grow up in front of me, as they tear at my clothes I push them aside along with the questions. It’s not my place to question my Lord. And I keep going.

Slower now. My teeth are chattering from the cold, snow is sliding down my neck, mud has coated my feet. But the path keeps going. It’s like an escalator. I can’t stop it, can’t stop my forward momentum I can only go forward. Placing one foot in front of the other, struggling up the slick and icy path. Through the swirling white I can just make out enough of the path to see that before I reach the knot I must climb straight up the mountain. Just to the left of the path there’s an easier way, it gently moves over hills that slowly go over the mountain, but here in front of me is a sheer cliff that I must scale.

So scale it I do. I cling to it with bare hands and feet that are weighed down with enough mud to make me wonder if someone isn’t holding onto me, pulling me back. But I keep climbing.

This isn’t a mountain I wanted to scale. These aren’t the trials I wanted to face. Anger starts to take hold as I try and shake some of the mud off my feet. I lose a shoe but the mud hangs on. I claw at the rocky surface of the sheer cliff, trying to gain a hold that will keep me from sliding on the icy path. I tell myself I can’t get angry. It isn’t allowed.

I’m supposed to be thankful for everything that comes my way. But…the flesh battles the spirit. The anger wants to win. Hand over hand, one footstep at a time, I climb the cliff. I stay on the path. It’s so narrow now that I can feel open air on either side of me. I can sense the deep void of nothingness which I know isn’t really nothingness because lining my path is a broader path. The easy way. The way that runs right alongside where I’m at.

But I’m not on that path. I’m on this one. And I want to be on the one I’ve been placed on. Only today, in this moment, as I lose three fingernails to the sharp rocks cutting into my hands, as my feet slip and slide and are long past feeling numb from the cold and the ice, as my flesh and my spirit do battle against themselves. Today…I fight anger at the One that placed me here.

I shouldn’t feel it. I can’t allow myself to feel it. It isn’t my place to ask questions or to demand answers. I’m not allowed to blame my Maker for the path He placed me on. And the guilt sets in. Because I don’t want to ever be angry with him. But the battle keeps raging. The snow turns to sleet. It hits me with the fierceness of knives, it cuts through me and lands blow after blow against my heart.

And I raise my hand.

I beg for forgiveness.

Beg for help.

Because I’m on this path. Because at the top of this cliff I can see the knots I know I must try and find a way to wiggle through. And worse…I can know see something huge and dark and threatening looming there. It waits for me as I keep climbing. I want to stop. I want to stay hanging on this cliff forever. Going backward isn’t an option; hanging on the cliff with the threat looming over me isn’t an option, even though I’d gladly stay here forever if only I didn’t have to face that threat.

I release the anger and raise my hand toward Heaven knowing my Lord is reaching for me even though I can’t see Him. Peace is there but so is pain. The pain of the icy knives slicing into my heart, cutting chunk after chunk out of me. It’s shredding me and still I climb because I’ve been given no other option. I was placed on this path and I cannot get off. I don’t want to get off. But I don’t want to face the fog or the threat either.

And so the flesh and the spirit battle.

But I’ve found my Savior again. I can feel His hand on mine. I can feel Him lifting me up, holding me because I know I’m rapidly approaching that place when I can’t hold myself up anymore. The path has become too hard. It’s more than I can bear. And it keeps hurtling me closer and closer to the threat I can see looming, growing bigger and darker, at the top of the cliff. There’s no escaping the threat, no turning around, no avoiding it. I must keep climbing. I must struggle through the knots to reach the top.

And I must face the threat.

I know I won’t do it alone. I can’t do it alone. Already my legs are weak, my knees are buckling and my strength is about gone. It won’t be long now before I have nothing left to climb with and my Lord will have to carry me. I have no strength to get through the knots, no ability to scale the last of the cliff, and I know that I have nothing to fight the threat with.

I cling tighter to my Lord and let Him take my weight.

He’s going to have to carry me to the top, battle the threat for me, and see me safely over the mountain.

Because I can’t do it anymore.