When I was a young girl, climbing trees was one of my favorite things to do. A couple of times I got up far enough that I didn't think I could get back down. There was no one around to call for help, so I had to figure out how to get down by myself. After I finally mustered my courage I took it step by itty bitty step. The way down was slow and painful and scary, and took way longer getting back down than it did climbing up there, mainly because of my fear. I'd have to stop now and then and cry, then take another step down. Finally, I made it low enough where I could jump to the ground. I was never so happy to feel the ground beneath my feet. I remember laying down, waiting for my heart and breath to settle, before standing back up to move on to the next adventure.
It's funny...it never stopped me from climbing back up another tree.
Maybe life is like that. Or maybe my life is like that. Finding myself up one tree after another. Sometimes I think I'm stuck. And the process of getting back down is painful and too damn slow. Other times, I slide and leap on down like its nothin'.
This particular tree I find myself in I will not ever climb again. This tree has too many beetles, too many termites, too much rot. Its not a happy, healthy tree. It doesn't bear any fruit. And once I get back to the ground, heart and breath settled, I'll be on my way to the next adventure. I won't even look back.
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