Looking back down on the way I had come I knew the return would be tough. What got me here was going to be repeated. What goes up must come down.
But for now, I rested. The view stretched forever. A snow-covered mountain glistened. The sky was eternally blue. A range of steep, forested hills hid the path far below strewn with the golden leaves of autumn.
There was not much open country in the ascent. A few enticing views of where I now stood had beckoned me on. It was a long, laborious, exhausting climb with too heavy a pack, too weary a body, too far to go.
So, so far.
But now I was here. I had arrived. And I rested. And I did not want to leave.
The Psalmist David could identify. “When my heart is overwhelmed, lead me to the rock that is higher than I” (Psalm 61:2).
There is a great deal of confidence in that cry, for therein is expressed a surety – as sure as the trials and troubles are – of conviction, that there is a place up ahead, reached through admittedly no little difficulty, where perspective is regained, where purpose of much that has transpired is realized, where peace – a deep, abiding, unshakable peace and resolve – is restored.
That rest, in that place, allows, provides, and strengthens for the return.
To live, and to love again.
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