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My feet move to the beat of a distant drum…
Boom—boom
Rest
Boom—boom
Stumble
Everyone else whizzes by effortlessly, or so it appears. As they go, I see God work in their lives in miraculous ways and people follow in their wake: bowing, fawning, and clapping and then…I’m alone again.
A mixture of sweat and blood drips in my eyes as a twig swats me in the face. I stomp my foot and yell out to God then plop down on the trampled ground; dust still hangs thick in the air. I hear no human sounds.
Not until I stand again and try to walk do I hear the familiar:
Boom—boom
Rest
Boom—boom
Stumble
The road is a continuous steep grade which winds around and up; a dangerous and lonely path.
Ahhh! I see something at the edge of the horizon.
I escape the marked path until my bare toes wiggle in tall grass. When I bend over the ledge of a wooden fence, cool air hits me in the face. I look down and see a space that goes on and on…forever.
There's an old wooden sign: Weariness BeGone. Curious, I look around and notice a plank that leads into the middle of an abyss.
The way looks delightful, cozy. Better than the interminable path to nowhere. I take a cautious step. My legs tremble because of the height but I press on.
The “boom…boom” doesn’t resonant throughout my body.
I fall to my knees and crawl to the end of the cushioned board. I give in to temptation and lie down. My eyes close, almost against my will. My legs curl up. I sleep yet the more sleep I get, the more I need. I feel so profoundly exhausted, in my sleepiness, that I question the sign’s meaning.
Serenity? Gone.
A windstorm propels me off the board.
I try to grab at it but it’s too late.
I’m in a free-fall into the chasm.
My mind whirls in double-triple-quadruple-time. Memories speed past in bits and parcels like Dorothy in Kansas except…this is real. This is real, isn’t it?
Kids sit around me. Children’s Church. Hand motions. Laughter.
There we are, my husband and I, in the front pew. Our two oldest kids are baptized. Happy days. Healthy days.
I’m standing in front of a pulpit. I remember this.
A desk full of paperwork. Life is good.
Memorizing Philippians and James. The Word of God engrained in me.
Slipping down a water slide, laughing, the sun shining on my tanned face.
What happened to change all this? Then I remember:
Disease.
Fatigue.
Life ripped away.
I’m at the end of myself. I’m all out of dos and in life, we must do. Our species are doers. We find worth in what we do; in what we accomplish.
I tried that hard path. I was there. I tried to do in my weariness but I left that path and now I’m in this free-fall. I’m alone.
All the doers and followers are on that windy road going up. Where am I? I’m plummeting into the unknown.
I lash out to find a hand-hold.
Nothing.
Hope lost.
And then hope is born again with a wispy touch to my cheek…
A delicate butterfly comes near.
I reach out my finger and it lands. What a sight we must make, the butterfly and I, plunging down this limitless hole.
Woosh!
Right under me, a being with wings that span the void captures me and cradles my body against his.
When he looks at me, I see the very essence of beauty and splendor.
I’m fed and ministered to as the winged angel calmly whisks me back up the gorge.
The farther we go the stronger I become – until I – on my own – stand and spread my wings. Nothing holds me back.
I hear a whisper, “those who hope in the LORD will renew their strength.” Then in a booming voice, ““They will soar on wings like eagles; they will run and not grow weary, they will walk and not be faint.”
I smile at the creature and he gives a slight puff! and I catch the updraft. I go with no effort, the butterfly beside me. I fly up and out of the gorge.
I dip down among the doers then soar on past until I see the summit. I have an appointment there.
We sit, the Lord and I. We don’t do. We just sit.
*********
Isaiah 40:31 NIV
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