the bridge

My friend sent out this photo of the Choluteca Bridge in Honduras for us to think about in preparation for tonight’s discussion at Evening Prayer, where we are having really great World Cafe style conversations.  When I first saw it, this is the story it told me.

the bridge

over there, they say, and point
it’s the only way to get where we’re all going
and so I look and search
with my eyes and soul
but I find it hard to see over the heads
of the brokenness and pain and killing
and hatred and divisiveness and prejudice and yelling

I understand where they are pointing
but it’s so far from me and
I don’t know how to get there
from here

“I’m lost, I’m lonely”
I whisper
“I don’t know what to do”
and still they nod and smile and point

if only they would take my hand
and walk alongside me
from this point on
maybe I could figure it all out

instead they look back at me
from where they are
filled with something I cannot yet understand
and wave for me to come on
and join them

I am so tired, so weary
all I want to do is lay my head down
and rest
this journey is too hard
too much
I cannot take a single step more

and still they point
and wave
not understanding that I’m so far away
their words do not make sense to me
and soon they get frustrated and move on ahead

without me

and so the darkness overwhelms me
and the Bridge I’ve heard so much about
the only Way, they say,
seems farther and farther away

and I wonder that if they are so close to the Bridge
and they know how to get back there
why are they so impatient with me
and so reticent to come back and join me
where I am

and share the journey
through the pain and brokenness
until we all reach the path laid
out before us
and we find the Way
together