Poem: The Line

The Line

It is always a matter of how far you are willing to walk.
How far from the familiar shore,
how far towards the distant light.
A classic case of risk versus reward.

Only it is not that at all.
It is uncomfortableness versus reward.
I have learned that the hard way,
walking seawalls and beaches and climbing
the rockscapes that tumble down the Blue Ridge.

At some point, you reach the thin line
where the fear has you, just where it wants you.

That is the time to get mad. Mad at some vague fear
that you may or may not be able to name,
that you may or may not have the provenance of,
grow angry at the sheer gall of your past
to dare challenge you now.

At some point, you reach the thin line.
and cross it.
Or not.

And what if you don’t cross it?
Is it over?
Are to doomed to your comfortable place near the shore?

No. Our God is a benevolent God.
A God of second chances.
A God who wants your good, and wants you,
yes, you dear child, to fly,
not like Icarus, but like the angel you were meant to be,
laughing, gleeful, crossing the line to that dream,
whatever it may be. This is what our God wants for you.
Joy. Courage. Belief.

And if we fail. One time or twenty.
The line will still be there, ready to be crossed,
less a barrier
than a launching pad for angels.

About this poem

Preaching to myself today.

The picture was taken in Provincetown, MA.


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