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Topic: Mountains (09/20/04)
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TITLE: The process is the destination By gillian liversedge 09/23/04 |
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The road; long, steep and lonely
Seemed endless.
Walking,
Not knowing my destination
Just, that I must walk.
My feet,
Sore, blistered and bleeding,
Continued on their way,
Carrying my tired and aching body.
My knees were grazed.
Many times I had stumbled.
The road was often rocky,
Uneven.
It was dusty,
My eyes were scratched and sore.
My hands, too.
Hurting and wounded from many falls,
Carrying a burden which was
So heavy.
My shoulders, my heart,
Felt that they could go no further.
Ahead,
I spy a resting place.
A seat,
Provided for the weary traveller.
I sit,
And ease the burden from my back,
Planning to rest awhile.
A little while,
A stranger comes and sits by me.
Looking down,
I see His feet
Also sore
Also bruised.
I look, and see His hands
They are wounded,
With wounds
Old, but sore still.
His face.
His face is smiling.
Looking into my eyes He takes my hands.
And touches them.
They are healed.
My feet, now.
He is kneeling.
Massaging my poor, tired feet in His hands,
And they are whole again.
He speaks.
“Now, give me your burden. It is mine.”
I pass it over,
Give it to Him.
He takes it- it seems to fall away and be no more.
We sit awhile,
Resting.
Then He rises.
“Walk with me” He says.
We walk.
His arm around me, sustains, supports.
The walk, brighter now,
But still a walk.
I speak.
“Sir, do You know whence we go?
Where we will find our goal?
What is it that we seek?”
He smiles.
“Child,” says He,
"This walk,
This journey,
This knowing, and being known.
The stumbles and falls,
And my arm around your shoulder.
This walk,
This is our goal,
This is what we seek.
The process is the destination.”