There’s a storm on your mountain,
You struggle to see, to climb, to find sense.
From my place near my peak,
I know what you feel:
sadness, confusion, the deep pull from below.
We face mountains of different shapes,
it is true,
But the Climb is the Climb
And I want to help you through.
Let me throw you a rope bridge, the sturdiest kind,
We’ll meet in the middle of your mountain and mine.
I have stories of storms, and a blanket to share.
You can rest for a while, dangle your feet in the air.
And when we are finished,
lean your head on my shoulder for this final blessing:
The mountains are wild. The storms will rage.
But He has us here. Rest well, dear heart.