The Climb
By Avlen L’rae
I stood at the foot of the mount.
“I cannot climb it,” said I.
So I fell to my knees to beg and plead
to the One who stares down from the sky.
“Raise me up!” I cried, “to the top of the mount,
that I might be already there.
For if I sit atop the mount,
how I got there what matters or cares?”
So He raised me up quickly, from bottom to top,
from low to high was I;
and as I was about to enjoy the view,
I heard a voice below cry:
“Hi-de-ho up there!” said a climber below,
“I’m a bit stuck, you see.
Could you tell me where my next foothold is
or where to raise my knee?”
But help I could not,
for I had not made the climb;
I could not give direction
or help be his guide.
I lie down on my chest
and reached to him below,
but our hands could not touch
and my panic did grow.
He made one more effort,
then started to fall . . .
I closed my eyes
as I heard him call.
A moment of terror!
My imagination gone wild!
Dare I open my eyes?
What would I find?
Slowly, hesitantly . . .
one eye, then two;
I opened to find
I was at the bottom too.
I stood myself up,
wiped the gravels to the ground;
the beat of my heart
the only sound.
“Okay,” I cried out,
“I’ll climb if I must.”
“It’s up to you,” God replied,
as my foot left the dust.