“No.”
“No? What do you mean, ‘No’?”
“What do you mean, what do I mean? I mean ‘No.’ As in, ‘No’. There are no subtle nuances here.”
“Seriously, it’s not that bad.”
“It is a suicidal leap over the chasms of hell. NO.”
“Look, the only way to get from here to there is across this bridge.”
“You go; I’ll take pictures. Besides, what’s so great about ‘there’? I like ‘here’ just fine.”
Clearly the Capilano Suspension bridge proved to be somewhat more intimidating that the pretty postcard pictures I had been handed earlier. I watched my husband stride confidently to certain death. People behind me, waiting for our argument to resolve, had gone from polite throat clearing to audible cursing. Fine. My will was written, my house was in order, be it upon his head.
I crossed.
It was some weeks later that a friend in Christ called to tell me that I had been brought to mind, while listening to a Simon and Garfunkel song. I felt instantly intrigued. Old, but intrigued.
“I saw Jesus standing with you, in front of a chasm. You wanted to cross, but it was far too wide to jump. Then he got down, and stretched his own body across the void, and invited you to walk across on his back…”
There may have been more, but I broke down at the image of my booted feet walking across his scarred back. After a moment, my friend said quietly, “Like a bridge, over troubled waters, I will lay me down.”
God of the impossible, help us to cross over.
“No? What do you mean, ‘No’?”
“What do you mean, what do I mean? I mean ‘No.’ As in, ‘No’. There are no subtle nuances here.”
“Seriously, it’s not that bad.”
“It is a suicidal leap over the chasms of hell. NO.”
“Look, the only way to get from here to there is across this bridge.”
“You go; I’ll take pictures. Besides, what’s so great about ‘there’? I like ‘here’ just fine.”
Clearly the Capilano Suspension bridge proved to be somewhat more intimidating that the pretty postcard pictures I had been handed earlier. I watched my husband stride confidently to certain death. People behind me, waiting for our argument to resolve, had gone from polite throat clearing to audible cursing. Fine. My will was written, my house was in order, be it upon his head.
I crossed.
It was some weeks later that a friend in Christ called to tell me that I had been brought to mind, while listening to a Simon and Garfunkel song. I felt instantly intrigued. Old, but intrigued.
“I saw Jesus standing with you, in front of a chasm. You wanted to cross, but it was far too wide to jump. Then he got down, and stretched his own body across the void, and invited you to walk across on his back…”
There may have been more, but I broke down at the image of my booted feet walking across his scarred back. After a moment, my friend said quietly, “Like a bridge, over troubled waters, I will lay me down.”
God of the impossible, help us to cross over.