Carrying my cross,
I take lumbering steps
up the steep mountain;
I grumble with every step,
like Job, wondering why
the Lord is asking me
to shuffle along, dragging
this heavy wood with me
wherever I go.
But then I come to
a dangerously deep
crevasse that threatens
to end my journey,
and even with a
giant Herculean leap,
I know that I would fall
down, down, down,
into the black throat
of the abyss below.
Suddenly, a white Dove
darts right past me,
causing me to jump back
from the edge of the cliff;
as I do so, the cross falls
forward so that its top
now rests on the other side,
forming a wooden bridge.
After I carefully crawl
to the other side,
I look back at the cross,
wondering if I should
kick it down over
the edge of the cliff,
but, instead, I choose
to slowly pick it up,
embrace it, and
faithfully follow
in the footsteps of Jesus.