Not very good....

My hands were battered, bloody from the crawl, scraped on the sharp rocks of life. So often I cried out....begging for someone to come and help me, scared of falling, yet fearing to rise. So I crawled, not stopping, slowly up the hill. There were many times when I slipped, falling down, and I had to pick myself back up. That was hard. I was in pain, wondering if I would ever make it, wondering if I was alone in my journey. I often felt the fleeting presense of something greater, of someone who could help me. Yet, I couldn't let go and see if it was true. I had to do this myself. Then one day I made it to the top. There standing before me was the most glorious mad. His hands were battered and scarred just as mine were. His feet were bloody too. I wondered if he had crawled up the hill as I had. When I asked him how his hands and feet had become so torn he answered- cutting me straight to my heart," I crawled so you could walk, I slipped so you could trod safely, I fell so you could stand tall, I cut for you, I bled for you. For you I died. For you I lived." I wept, realizing that I had hurt for no reason. I could have let go and been safe, but I was too stubborn, too prideful.....too rebellious.....too hurt.