The Cliff

As the sun sets, the darkness creeps into my skin, making goose bumps appear on my arms. The dirt beneath my feet begins to crumble and I look down to see the tips of my white tennis shoes peeking over the edge of the cliff, where the loose earth tumbles down into the vast emptiness. Despair has paralyzed me and I can’t move from this place. The rocks below taunt me, mock me because they know I’m too sane to meet them but too much a coward to return to the pain I left behind. The frustration of the past presses against my back and from the left and the right like and invisible force. I know I cannot go back. The desire for hope has driven me here, revealing glimpses of itself here and there but always too far away to grasp. And where has it lead me? To a place just as bare and destitute as where I came from.

The cliff is sheer and unforgiving. It drops straight in front of me and to the right, but as far as I can see to the left, about thirty feet down, a small shelf protrudes. The light gray rock looks almost white in the fading light and I notice a small clump of green grass on the small shelf. The color stands out amongst the dull, colorless cliff. Its contrast gives me the smallest glimpse of hope in this desert landscape. The bright contrast colors the dull shades in of my heart. Where does the grass get its water, I wonder? What is the purpose of it, to grow where no animal can taste it, where it cannot be seen and enjoyed unless someone is crazy enough to stand in this hopeless place? Then I think of the change it is doing to my heart and I think, did God put it here just for me? Does He think that much of me that He would cause this small miracle to give me hope in the midst of hopelessness? Then I hear a faint sound. So faint I have to listen a second time to make sure I’m not hearing things. But there it is again. A soft, desperate bleating. Its coming from below, on the shelf. I risk leaning forward just a tiny bit and see, clinging to the side of the rock, the small kid of a mountain goat. I forget the risk to myself when I see the terrified look in its huge brown eyes and a small bit of grass slipping from its lips. The grass. How did the goat get down there? It was obviously tempted by the bright green and risked climbing the cliff to get down, but could not find its footing to get back up. But where was there a path to the ledge? Can I help this little one? With out another thought, I start walking over to where the shelf is to find any way to get down. There is no reason not to take this risk, I have nothing to stay here for. I see a small rock jutting out of the cliff about five feet down and I swing my feet over the edge, holding on to the crumbling dirt. My right foot finds in and my left begins the search for the next. How did the small animal get down here? I finally find a foothold and begin my treacherous decent. After what seems like hours I my shoes touch the shelf. I drop down and the goat freezes, staring at me. It’s unsure if its salvation or execution has just arrived. I crouch down and grab a clump of the grass, making sure to leave enough that it can reseed and remain as hope to other passersby. With my hand outstretched with the grass in my hand, I look straight into the goat’s eyes. My gaze does not hold promise of a way out of this, but rather a promise that it will not die alone on the ledge, that we will suffer together. Slowly, gradually, the kid inches closer to me. Finally it is eating out of my hand, then inching closer, looks for an embrace. I give it freely and the warmth of its little body and the pounding of its fragile heart remind me that this life is worth living. If not for myself, to get this small helpless animal to safety. For the first time I stand up and look around. I’ve already seen all there is to see to the right, but to the left a whole to view is open to me. What I see makes me stand in disbelief. A lush, green valley full of fruit trees, grass, goats, sheep, cattle, and a river flowing through. The goat did not climb down, it climbed up. I look back up the way I came. It rises up so sharply that I can barely see the indents I used as foot and hand holds. How did I do that? I’m not rock climber. Where did I get that kind of courage? I take a deep breath. I need to tap into that courage to get down to that valley. Combined with hope, I know that I will make it, but before making the descent, I sit down with the goat in my arms, making sure I do not forget this place.

So was the grass just for me? The baby goat? Or was my pain and despair so that I would be led to this place to save the kid? From somewhere in the back of my head a voice that I heard as a child whispers a promise I have long forgot.

Whatever you do for the least of these you also do to me.