About one and a half years ago, while I was sitting in my living room reading chair, my attention was drawn to this very large printed canvas we have hanging on our dining room wall. It’s about 60 inches high and 80 inches wide. It has hung in a few places in our home and, a while back, ended up where it is today.
By that time, my faith had been reawakened for a little over one year, and I was still in therapy, working my way through some issues.
That morning, as I was trying to settle into some prayer time, the canvas came into focus. Although I was sitting a few feet away with many other things in my line of sight, in that moment I was drawn to the canvas, and like in the picture above, I was standing directly on the edge of the bridge.
I was seeing an illustration of my prayer life. Not my prayer life per se, but rather my relationship with God. Although I had turned back to him, looking at the canvas, I could feel my apprehension about drawing closer.
The tree across the bridge was God waiting for me to sit at his feet and enjoy his presence. It was the place I needed to be to listen and be free of distractions and fears.
The bridge was my hesitation. It was shaky. As much as I wanted to cross and sit at the foot of the tree, both hands on the ropes, I trembled and realized how much resistance I had built throughout my years of deconstruction. Even then, months after my faith in God was restored, that resistance was there, holding me back. The fog represented all the distractions. Each plank was a step of faith. Closer and closer.
It was like that for a few weeks. Morning after morning, I would stare at that canvas, fully aware of my predicament. I stood there, talking to God from this side, struggling to identify what was holding me back.
Then, one morning, I heard Jesus calling, “Come to me, and I will give you rest.”
Crossing that bridge meant letting go of fear, excuses, hurt, unanswered questions, and anything else.
It meant resting. It was only on the other side that I would find my footing again.
I confessed my resistance and crossed. In the months that followed, I experienced breakthroughs like never before in my emotional and spiritual health. Hope returned.
Every morning since, when I am home, I start my morning in that same chair. The canvas is an invitation to name anything holding me back that day and, by faith, to embrace what God is doing and calling me to.
Some days I cross more slowly than others, but I cross.
You might not have a huge canvas on the wall in front of you, but what if you did? What if it was this same one? Where are you standing in relation to God? What is shaky in your life? What is scary? What is holding you back or keeping you stuck in the middle?
Pray with me, “Jesus, today, I accept your invitation, and I come, trusting that you know what I need.”