Distant, purple mountains

The Lord is merciful, brother,
and He loves us more than we love ourselves,
and He fears more for our safety and salvation than we do,
and He is only trying very hard
to not let us slip out of His tender hands,
which hold us loosely enough for us to experience freedom
and taste danger,
yet tightly enough to keep us from falling,
unless we really want to.

Praise be to Jesus Christ,
who does not listen to those who accuse His lovers,
even when it is the lovers themselves
who, by fear or doubt, accuse.
For He comes not to judge the world,
but to give His life for it, for us,
for you, brother, and for me.
And the narrow way to which He leads us
will always lie ahead on our path,
not at our choosing,
not when we want it,
but when we expect it least,
are unable in fact to see it for what it is
until we have, carried in His arms,
passed through it.

The way I take today seems so wide
I can see the walls of the chasm
only as distant purple mountains
on the horizons north and south,
but I know that the wide river of my life
was a trickle at its source
and, near its end, passing through those gates of fire,
will again be a trickle,
but to the sea it flows,
into that calm though restless sea of the Lord of all,
who shall take me by the hand, look at me,
and say 'beloved'
as together we walk on that endless shore.
And you, dear brother, with Him, with me, are one.
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