Every time we go to Old Montreal, I see these figures.
Every time, I pause and smile.
“Oh, I just love these,” I say. “Look at them, climbing walls! I could hang one in my office, it would be so fun!”
And then in response to Jeff’s suggestion to buy one, “Oh no, I don’t need it. I love it, but not this time. I’ll just admire from a distance.”
Every time.
Until last week.
We were wandering Old Montreal, picking up Christmas gifts, loving that we get to live in such an interesting city.
And I saw them again. Stopped again to admire them.
And this time, one of them came home.
I keep gazing at him, but my response is different. Less light-hearted, “so fun, such an adventure, what a cute figure to have!”
Maybe it’s the last few years.
I look at him, his muscles straining, his gaze unwavering. Carrying only one small pack.
Jeff notices, raises questioning eyebrows.
“He’s still trying,” I say quietly. “Still climbing.”
I take a deep breath, heading into another day, another year. Thankful for all that is good. Bringing to God the things that are not.
And then I adjust my grip, check my footing, look towards the goal … and keep going.
“Therefore lift your drooping hands and strengthen your weak knees, and make straight paths for your feet, so that what is lame may not be put out of joint but rather be healed. Strive for peace with everyone, and for the holiness without which no one will see the Lord.”
Hebrews 12:12-14