Crossing Bridges

My lungs heave heavy with the clear, crisp air - summer's ending felt large. Feet plant unsurely along a trail strewn with roots and rocks, the destination an eventual end but the journey to that end unknown. The scene feels much like how my life has been of late. Clinging to the hope of some promised goodness, some holy view awaiting me in my future but presently left to simply put one lead-laden foot in front of the other, attempting to will myself to keep going when my mind has more than once thought of quitting this path and wishing for an easier route. 

But, just like on this trail, there is only one way. The Way. The hard-grace, Gospel way. 

Switchback after switchback, I continue to press on. Somehow, my soul feels reflected as I walk with a friend and we talk of all things hard. We talk of failing faith, of questions and doubts, of fears looming large and answers not yet given. This path, this journey is a picture of the inner struggle it's been to sometimes just get through a day. Of the holding on to every grace-drop to carry us through this season we both would not have chosen if given the option. We ask for grace to accept His will unseen, to keep saying "yes" to the God we believe in, even when He leads to places we would rather avoid. 

Grief still weighs heavy on the heart, but I can feel the presence of God out here in this hush of nature. I stop and realize I need to breathe. Chest gasps. Yes, Lord. I need to breathe. To slow. To make myself take in the calm. I need to make my eyes behold a waiting miracle. This moment is gift if I will just let myself have it seep into the deepest part of me. 

We approach a bridge. Whitewater rushes past in torrent of fury. Water-power pushing down, washing all in its path. Suspended feeling triggers my anxiety, and I feel my hands stiffen. My breathing speeds, my heart rate racing. I grip both railings, white-knuckled. I will make myself cross over. Will trust what is under me. Will assure myself that I am held. 

But do I trust that I am everlastingly held? That filial arms catch me and keep me so that I have no need for fear? 

I tell my friend that I must keep moving across instead of stopping mid-way. Hard things are always better overcome if pressed into instead of slowed. Once we've crossed, I relax a bit. I feel the brave that's risen inside of me. I could not have done this in the past. But I'm somehow emboldened in this moment by love and trust. By the safety that comes from being fully understood and accepted, weaknesses included. 

What I don't know is that another bridge is coming. One actually far worse, and I will have to do this again. Will have to summon courage once more. Friend doesn't tell me. God doesn't often tell me of the next hard thing ahead either. 

I keep planting my feet as best I can. Looking for sure ground as trails continues to stretch uneven. I am promised that the falls aren't too far away but with every turn, it feels like this road will not end. Even the guarantee that I'll see a view at the end isn't quite enough to convince me it's worth the pain to get there. Maybe I've viewed life much the same way - while an eternal victory has been ensured to me and I've been shown many times over that there is sight to be found on the other side of hard things, I'm still not certain that when the grief strikes, when the suffering hits, it's actually worth going through to obtain the blessing that lies on the other side. I often would rather run...the other way. Just go back and say it's easier the other direction. After all, it's mostly downhill where I've just climbed. But downhill to where? Perhaps an end I don't actually want? 

We near the end. Friend teases me that we've made it but then says we've actually got one more ridge to climb. First though, we must cross the raging river... again. This time, there is only one rail to hang onto. I know what's about to happen. I brace myself. He makes his way over...to show me I can follow. It's not enough for me. I get two steps onto the bridge...I've barely left land...and my courage runs out. I freeze. Anxiety pulsing through my body, I close my eyes to not look at the scene around me. The fear is real. I stand there and secretly pray but I'm not exactly sure for what. Bravery? Help? I try to get oxygen into my lungs. My hands shake. I can only hold onto one side. I need to know I'm held on all sides. 

At that precise moment, I look up briefly to find hope arriving. Friend makes his way back across the bridge. He knows. He doesn't even say a word. Just takes me by the hand and leads me across. I look down at my feet and place each step carefully. I know I'm safe now. He won't let me fall. I get to the other side, and he asks me if I'm okay. Still shaking, I steel myself for the final climb. In a matter of feet, we are at the falls.

I find a place to sit down. I must take this in. Must recover from what I've just endured. Must savor the view I've just now earned the right to look at because I persevered. Water cascades down, and I'm captivated. Calmed. Slowed. Eyes pool water as I realize that this is the miracle I've needed. The friendship I've always wanted. The faith I've always struggled to obtain. This is a holy moment. Much given in the face of things hard. We sit in silence. And I ask God to speak as we do. To silence all the voices, including our own so that His words can sink in. 

I blink back tears as my heart breathes in prayer. I want to keep saying "yes" to God, even when it hurts. While it's not the route I'd pick to travel, I know this is the only way to where I'm supposed to end up. To who I'm supposed to become. God has given no other route. This way, the only way. His way. 

As we head back, we come to the bridge again. This time, friend automatically takes my hand again to get me across. It's a beautiful thing when people act from a place of already known. And isn't this like God Himself with us? We begin the multi-mile trek back to the car and I somehow can't get the picture of the bridge out of my mind. I stop and take a photo. Look back on what I've just experienced. Because I want to remember this. It's symbolic. Friend has helped me cross many bridges in life. And so has the Father who loves me. 

I suddenly realize a great truth: God doesn't wait on the other side for us to cross the bridge and come to Him. He comes back across the bridge He's already walked to come take our hand and lead us safely across the raging waters of life. 

I feel it now, Lord. Perfect love casts out fear and once held in Your firm grasp, I am made brave. 

Could it be that the greatest vision comes in our growing nearer to the pain? That we can only find real relationship, real sight, real love when we are willing to stare at the hardship and face it for what it is? True grace-breathed love loves in the hard places. Love infuses us with what it takes to do the difficult. Love from others and love from God. In that moment at the bridge, I felt the power of both. 

Farther down the trail, legs shaking from the climb, I listen as friend tells me I've changed. That I'm more open. More vulnerable. More real. It's taken a long time to arrive at this place. It's been more scary than not, if I'm being perfectly honest. Yet I'm reminded that courage isn't always readily evident. The most brave among us aren't always the ones who have displayed it openly. Maybe the bravery that counts the most is the choice of faith over fear that we make when few are looking. Maybe what actually defines a life is the bridges that they cross and who crosses over with them.