The Journey

We slam ourselves headlong into You, the Rock; flesh against Stone; finite against Infinite until, bloody, bruised and battered, we yield. “You exist,” we reluctantly sob. “Hello,” You say, “Where does it hurt? Let me kiss your owie.” Flailing about in a child’s rage, we fling ourselves at Your feet, and cry out in anger, “Why do You make me suffer so? Why all this pain and agony?” Stooping, You scoop us up and put us on Your shoulders, from where we have a longer view of all that is. “Why is the road so narrow, why so few companions,” we complain. You take our hands and walk beside us, talking of things large and small, listening and laughing and weeping with us on the journey. “I thought You delivered us from all our enemies, made the path smooth for those who follow You,” we gripe. “Hmmm, You muse, half to Yourself, half to us, “Have you considered how much stronger you are today than yesterday? Did that come from sitting on the couch and eating bonbons?” “I’m so poor, he’s so rich, how about evening things up bit? I’d like some of the good life. How about a reward for my faithfulness and support of Your institutions?” we bargain. “Try giving some of what you have to someone with less than you. You’ll feel wealthy; he’ll feel blessed.” “Will You ever return? I’m so tired of this life,” we moan. “Well, as far as you’re concerned, the longest you have to wait, even if you were just born, seventy, eighty, maybe ninety years. Just the blink of an eye. We will meet in person before long, one way or the other.” “I don’t like the way I look; I’m looking old and grey and fat. My face is a dried prune, my belly jiggles when I walk, my knees creek and complain when I get up from the floor, I can’t remember anything.” “You are just who I want, my child, my beloved one, in whom I am well pleased.” “Oh, Daddy,” sighing, we relax into Him. “It’s good to have you fully here with me at last.” And You smile and open Your arms to us, gathering us into the warmth of Your embrace. 05/23/13