My Best and I, we have been known to dress up. In costumes, fancy.
He, Abe, tall and stately. Me, bride-Mary, sashaying in skirts, hooped.
We would chat and wave, teach and stroll.
To reach the center of activity, we needed to cross a bridge, suspended.
Long and narrow, strung with wires, it hung over creek, rolling.
Those walking slow, reluctant, found the bridge swinging, shifting balance, feet unsteady.
But those who crossed boldly, confidently, eased their way with little difficulty. They found the bridge steady, sure.
Eventually, all would cross. To all the good, waiting.
It was the crossing that mattered.
Abe and I, we learned quickly. How to cross without cowering.
We strolled, sure. Knowing.
That bridge, though it swayed a bit, it would hold.
And isn't that like trust?
Stepping out boldly, confidently.
Knowing.
The Lord, He holds.
Steady. Sure.
And on the other side. Good. Waiting.
No comments:
Post a Comment