climbing the holy hill

The youngest ones bolt up the mountain
  with eager exuberance; nothing
can stop them from running to
  the summit.  But I am out of breath,
climbing this holy hill.  It is a climb
  that I have made repeatedly
slogging up the trail for over fifty years. 
  It gets harder and harder,
muscles sore, lungs heaving,
  inhaling oxygen to fuel my weakened,
broken heart.  Life itself is depleting.

Just when I come to the end of myself
  I hear the whisper, “You are, oh, so near.” 
What I give away, He will replenish. 
  I exhale, trusting that when the next
breath comes, it will fill my heart with life.

Liz McFadzean

“Seeing the crowds, he went up on the mountain, and when he sat down, his followers came to him.”  Matthew 5:1