Remember the monkey bars?
I do.
I was tiny, short, shimmying up the pole
just to reach the first rung
I'd swing maybe two more before my palms
got sore, then I'd swing up and hang or fall
I would succumb.
Fatally overwhelmed by the ache of reaching
for the next bar, it's rough iron crust
too much for my tiny hands. My goal felt forever,
impossible and possibly not
worth the ache, the blisters. I would try,
try some more, but truth is I was never willing
to hurt to get to the other side.
The palms of our souls blister too.
We find ourselves dangling from the rung, hurting
so we succumb. We hang around gripping something
that was meant only to be swung from to get to the next bar.
We weigh the pain but don't count the cost of letting go.
Lord, don't let me succumb. When another rung seems too far
for my short and aching arms please send a good wind, a good friend
show me the balm for the blistered parts sitting at the end.
Help me cross the monkey bars. Help me conquer this playground
of do and don't. There are those that don't let go, they are on
the other side of the monkey bars, where I would like to be.
