She couldn't do it on her own. The very idea was ludicrous--as was the picture.
Tiny child, clutching a ragged bundle, standing at the edge of a muddy swamp. She has tears in her eyes; her little voice is raised in sorrow. "But I can't get past it!"
Someone appears at her side. He kneels beside her and dries her tears. "Come child. I'll take you."
She bounds into His arms, putting one arm around His neck; the other still clutches the ragged bundle. He carries her and they begin to cross the swamp.
But they have only gone two steps before the Man says, "Child, I need you to hang on with both hands. Here; let me carry your bundle."
He reaches out and takes the bundle in one hand. But the little girl cries out in fear and releases her hold on Him, frantically clinging to the bundle. She falls from His arms and splashes into the mud.
The tears come again. The Man pauses, bends over. "I'm sorry," the little child sobs. "Here, please take me up again. I promise I won't do that anymore."
So He picks her up again... but before they can go any farther, He once again asks for her bundle. "I need you to hang on to Me with both of your hands."
Another frantic cry and another splash into the mud. Again. And again. And again.
Tears fill my eyes. I look at the ragged bundle in my arms, and the filthy puddle I sit in. I look up at His eyes, kind and understanding. I look at the rest of the swamp: we haven't even really started to cross it yet.
How many more times must I fall?
None. He tells me none.
"Or let him take hold of My strength, that he may make peace with Me; and he shall make peace with Me" (Isaiah 27:5).
