Yawning chasms and small shoes

Okay today I am feeling better!  Yesterday I have to admit felt like a down day, pretty overwhelming but, as always, today I am coming up with a plan! Some time with family, a good cuddle before bed, a great night’s sleep and this morning, the day looks bright.

On my way to work this morning, I was thinking about perseverance.  When I was around seven or eight years old, we lived for a few years in a small, country village called Inglewood.  It was a quiet place, nestled amid rolling country hills, a small town with a church, a corner store to buy candy, a post office, a skating arena and not much else.  It was an ideal place to grow up, safe; lots of wild places to explore, great hills to you’re your sleigh down, a place where you could walk to Sunday school alone.  I remember one autumn day getting a phone call from my mother.  She had been out, not sure where, telling me that our trusty, old green car had broken down on the highway and she was walking back home.  She asked that I take a set of old, abandoned rail tracks through the fields and meet her halfway.  I readily set out on what felt like an adventure.

I remember walking through the fields on the old rail bed, quite pleased.  I have always enjoyed walking and particularly enjoy walking in the country.  I do, however, remember very clearly coming to a train trestle along the rain bed.  Walking up to the flat rails passing over a small stream, the day turned cold.  Looking back, I am sure the channel was no more than eight feet deep, but at the time, it was a chasm to me.  I am paralyzed by heights, deathly afraid.  Stretching out ahead of me were the black, railroad ties, like a scar on the countryside, light shining up between the yawning gaps between them.  I remember the yellowing weeds in the ditch, the last purple cornflowers and browning golden rod.  I stood there.

I had promised to meet my mother, walking toward me.  I swallowed. My hands started to sweat.  My feet went cold.  I placed my running shoe on the first tie, my white shoes stark against the black tar-stained tie.  I swung my foot to meet its mate.  I stood.  I shivered.  I looked down and away.  I reached out and placed my foot on the second tie and swung its waiting mate.  Slowly, one tie at a time, this is how I crossed the trestle, never looking down, eyes firmly fixed on the horizon.  In a blink I was across and a great whoosh of breath left me and a burden was lifted from my shoulders.  I walked light hearted the rest of the way and, seeing Mom in the distance coming toward me, I had kept my promise. 

I will remember those yawning, black timbers and, today, place my foot firmly on the first one. I have to remember to keep my promises, especially to myself, and keep going.