The Mountain is a Metaphor

“My love,” God said to her, sitting next to her on a hillside as they watched a small, lazy river flow by, “you will face many challenges in your life.”

The river's level began to rise slowly. “Some of those challenges will seem easy to manage,” he paused, glancing at the water, which had surged high enough for small rapids to form. The sound of rushing water intensified.

Suddenly, the river flooded its banks, waves lapping at their feet. God stood and pulled her up higher on the hillside just as a tree floated by in the rushing waters. “Sometimes, we need to step aside from the flow and find another way. It is difficult to fight the current of rushing floodwaters; it is powerful, even deadly.”

He began climbing higher toward the mountain's summit, reaching back for her hand to help her climb. They ascended to the peak and turned to survey the raging river, but now it was merely a trickle of a brook.

“You dislike this metaphor?” God asked her, sensing her secret emotions.

“So many have been devastated by floodwaters,” she whispered quietly.

They sat together at the summit of the mountain, arms resting on their knees.

God remained silent for several minutes, allowing her soul to wrestle and seek to understand.

“There are battles in our lives,” God paused and then corrected his words, “your lives,” he paused again. “Battles that you will struggle to understand because the knowledge you receive about the occurrence is only a sliver of truth. You expect clarity, you trust authority to be truthful, you investigate with limited skill and minimal knowledge.”

“I'm just supposed to ignore it?”

“No, love,” God paused. “The mountain is a metaphor,” he looked up and directly into her eyes, “And so is the river.”

With a flick of his hand, God reset the scene into a new time and place.