He shuffles, stumbling, always forward, always up. The trees mark grey in early twilight. Bare branches reach forward, grasping like hands yearning for a spring that won't come. Will they snap, die before life returns? Or can the new year bring purpose again?
His hands smack against the rock wall that stretches into the sky. Palms burn. But he raises trembling fingers. The stones crumble under them. He reaches again. Finds hold. Climbs.
Mountain turns to sky. Air is under his heels, but he reaches again. One hand higher, one slip of his foot into the rock.
And then rock turns to sod. He shakes, pulling himself onto the mountain ledge and sinking onto his back. The moist ground stains his shirt. His face relaxes into the wrinkles that age drew. But he stares up, up, at the last stars that dance in the night before twinkling out, one by one.
When Israel was a child, I loved him,And out of Egypt I called My son.As they called themSo they went from them;they sacrificed to the Baals,and burned incense to carved images.
When dawn comes, the sky burns red.
He closes his eyes and tries to forget for a moment. But it's like fire, seeping close, drawing brighter. Through his eyelids, the colors creep in.
First crimson. The wild berries that grew on the edge of the clearing, watching the log house as frost crept over it in winter nights. Red berries that saw through the lone window. There, the fire burned with the same color but gentle. Laughing. Filling the cabin with warm smells and wintery smiles.
Wisps of violet. The tea kettle, once grey that somehow faded to purple. It grew hot and whistled, turning water into laughing apple cider that warmed their hands. The remnants of dried lavender hung by the door, mixing with the cider to give a crisp, gentle scent. The smell of life, her life. Of a summer soon to come.
And then blue. The way her eyes smiled. The sapphire sky that shone through the window, even when ice crept across the world. Reflecting off the snow, the blue grew bright, blinding, so they had to cover their faces and run through the flakes, laughing when the drifts caught them.
But always, those colors drew him inside to where her hands reached, hugs warmed, and smiles grew.
I taught Ephraim to walk,Taking them by their arms;But they did not know that I healed them.I drew them with gentle cords,With bands of love,And I was to them as those who take the yoke from their neck.I stooped and fed them.
His eyes open. The sky is blue, flecked with stray curls of white, like the hair on his beard. Wind slowly brushes them. They slip away, leaving the sky empty.
Like his child did. The daughter who whispered those lies of "I love you." Who left the cabin without a goodbye. The empty jar she stole from. The fire growing cold, crying, snow settling on the last footprints he tried to follow.
Did he give up too quickly? Was the love only behind one more set of trees, or did it run away beyond the highest mountains?
So he stands. Trails the side of the cliffs, climbs higher so that the air surrounds him, icy. The frost clings to his boots and snakes through the thick sleeves. They slice, grabbing his skin and piercing it through.
His lips stiffen with cold, but he hikes higher.
My people are bent on backsliding from Me.Though they call to the Most High,None at all exalt Him.
The last tree drops its pines behind. They're on the ground, scattered under his feet. They crunch, snap. He lifts his chin and climbs higher. The white of his hair presses back in the wind.
Sod turns to rock again. He slows as they shift and try to throw him off the mountain. The enemies nudge their visitor with their spears, but he keeps walking, presses forward.
The noon sun warms only slightly. He shifts his jacket on his arms, and they send new shivers of cold up his sleeves. When he curls his fingers, they have no feeling.
But his jaw tightens. He faces the last cliff.
How can I give you up, Ephraim?How can I hand you over, Israel?... My heart churns within Me;My sympathy is stirred.I will not execute the fierceness of My anger... I will not come with terror.
Hand over hand. Foot in every stray gap in the rock. His tendons grow tight, wrinkles deepen, but he climbs higher.
Every step, his legs tremble. Every grasping of his fingers, they burn.
He reaches the top. And there, his breath releases.
The smallest figure lays in the snow. Skin like ice, those blue eyes flash sharp. They meet his and then fall away.
The lines of tears are on her frozen cheeks. And the man bends over, slips his hands under the shivering figure, and lifts.
Turning, the journey begins again, this time down.
They shall walk after the LORD.He will roar like a lion.When He roars,Then His sons shall come trembling from the west.
"I ran." Only a whisper.
"I know." The man's lips offer a tight smile.
The figure grows still, eyes never looking up. They stumble down a forgotten path, slip on ice, fall. But he rises, straightens, pushes away the ache in his legs.
Ground creeps away. Slowly, the trees return with berries, red as blood. The sky brightens, and it reflects off the snow, blinding.
They walk on. He holds her, helps her through it.
As the sun sets, those stars return. They peep through the silk blanket of night, dance.
Mountain passes behind them. The forest swallows them up until it too breaks, and there the cabin waits. Red shines through the window as a fire waits.
She swallows. "I'm sorry."
He carries her forward, opens the door. "I already forgave you."
snippets from Hosea 11
~♥~
