Saturday, October 15, 2011

The Traveler

I'm going for a slightly different blog post this time. I want to do something that signifies the end of the road I've been walking, so I've decided to do a prophetic poem about reaching the end of the spiritual wilderness. It's called "The Traveler."

A battered hiking boot scuffs the dry sand as the traveler comes to a stop.
He wipes the sweat and dust from his brow and presses his water bottle to his parched lips.
The liquid trickles down his throat and the sense of refreshment spreads throughout his being.
The end of the road is here at last.
The traveler turns to face the journey he's known for so long.
The only journey he's ever known.
The only road he's ever traveled.
The sun, once blazing overhead, is now setting behind the hills, yet he can still make out the hundreds of miles he has covered in the distance.
Obstacles that once seemed unconquerable, now stand as milestones, far off in the distance, remembered but also forgotten.
He remembers it all so clearly.
He remembers the sun burning his skin and the heat parching his throat.
He remembers the unforgiving hardness of the ground he trod upon, ground he hit in full force and had to painfully drag himself up from once too often.
He remembers the vultures circling, an omen of death, waiting for him to give up on the journey.
He remembers the deep weariness he felt in his very bones.
He remembers looking at the road ahead and thinking it would never end, thinking that the sun would never stop, thinking that the road would be the end of him.
It's all behind him now, and he can't quite believe it.
But he remembers one more thing.
He remembers the One who was with him the whole way.
That still, small voice, giving him the strength to go on.
Even when he was stuck at the foot of an obstacle he thought he'd never get past, the voice was there.
In the hottest part of the day, the voice was there.
In the blackest depth of the night, the voice was there.
When the traveler shook with fear, seethed with anger or boiled over in frustration, the voice was there.
He thought it would never end.
But it has.
He's a new man now.
There's a clarity, a wisdom and a strength about him that was never there before.
He has the long, dusty road to thank for that.
And the One who continued to encourage him to walk down it, even though everything inside him was screaming at him to quit.
As he looks back, there is no weariness in his eyes.
No anger, no resentment, no regret,
Only a sense of peace and calmness he's never truly experienced before.
As he faces the road he's traveled, he utters two simple words, he thought he'd never say when talking about his journey.
"Thank you."
He then turns around and faces forwards with a grin that can barely fit on his face.
The time of darkness is over.
The promised land awaits.

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