The year 2020
The year when my freedom was cut, but perspective grew
The year when I was kept close to home, but never quite felt at home
The year when I could not escape my fears, when I was boxed in, nowhere to go
The year when I nearly lost all hope, held on to the thinnest of threads, then strangled myself with that tangling rope
The year when I felt like a parrot, clever and colorful, yet stuck in a lonely cage
The year when my wings became weak, my abilities rusted, my adventures ceased
The year when the comfort of my couch had me on the verge of falling into a deadly routine
But also, the year when I realized I was floating around in circles, in no way heading towards my dream.
It was a time when I could not lose myself in places where millions would not dare to go
A time when I could not choose my own edges, my own cliffs, my own risks
A time when I could not be hit by lightning, a rolling thunderstorm, or shivering snow
A time when I could not get lost in the darkness, no howling winds whistling past the unknown
It was a time when no maps or tracks were needed, when no contours squeezed in tight
A time when I could not run for the mountains, scatter up rocks or dangle down descents at night
A time when I could not slide down scary screeds, trust loose rocks or tumble through the thickest thorns
A time when I could not be bitten, stung or ambushed by the wildest of beasts, stripped, ripped and torn
It was a time when I was supposed to be kept safe but felt most vulnerable.
And in this minefield within a maze, in this partial-piece puzzle, it struck me
It started with a blank page, then the Lord started to scribble
He scribbled those places where millions would not dare to go
He scribbled those contours, those edges, those cliffs, He scribbled my risks, He scribbled me
He controls the lightning, speaks through the thunder, dims the sun at night
He created those dangers to expose me, He carries me with eagle wings, He brings me back to light
Because it is not in a safe place where I feel most alive
It is not in the comfort of my house where I’m exposed to those fine art scribblings, those thousands of contours, never the same
It is not in a safe place where my knees tend to buckle, dropping me in prayer through His name.
Because if I had to choose, I’d drop in prayer where I can only hear His voice
I’d drop in prayer where I can only see His art, His subtle attention to detail
I’d drop in prayer where I can feel His warmth, His love, His care
I’d drop in prayer where I can smell the scents of His seasons blossom through the bare
And as I long to sip from a tiny stream of water, in its purest form, scribbling from its source, I realize
It is in these mountains where my faith is bigger than my fear
It is in these mountains where the Lord shows off, where he makes the danger disappear
It is in these mountains where I am left breathless, in awe, time and time again
It is these mountains that I long for, it is in these mountains where I’m kept sane
And that is why I run for the mountains
— Louis —
livealittle.blog 