if loneliness were a road

The wooden sign sitting atop a rusty metal pole with crudely etched letters read, “Loneliness.” She takes tentative steps, her gait—wobbly, unsure, unsteady. Isn’t there another way? But in her heart she knew, she must pass this way—even just once in her life.

And so she enters the road and lets her eyes take in the sight. The horizon looks bleak; with the skies overcast with dark clouds, threatening heavy rains. But where would I go to shelter myself when the downpour comes? A drop falls but not from above. A lone tear makes its way down her cheek, which she quickly wipes away with the back of her hand.

She draws a deep breath and decides to resume her walking. The terrain, constantly changing, seems painted in gray—not one streak of yellow, not a hint of red. Will I survive the lonely journey? The few steps multiply but not the courage in her heart. While treading through the rocks of insecurity, she didn't know where to plant her feet. While braving the sandstorm of unfulfilled longings, she wasn’t certain where to hide. And after surviving yet another near-fall in the cliff of compromising, she pauses for a moment. Tired, she’s almost ready to give up.

She drops to her knees, buries her face in her hands and asks, How many more steps? I can’t go on anymore. Her eyes finally succumb to the fatigue in her heart and release a flood of emotions. The tears, now flowing freely, are salty with frustration, despair. Hopelessness.

In between sobs, she lifts her head and sees an outstretched Hand in front of her. Its fingers, calloused. Its skin, a deep brown, tanned under the hot Jerusalem sun. And the Hand, showing a scar as a heavy nail once spiked through it.

This time, it is this Hand that wiped away her tears. With her head now lifted, she scans the horizon again and realizes that the gray suddenly doesn’t look as gray anymore. Maybe I can take His Hand, she mutters to herself with a weak smile. Maybe she’ll make it through this road after all.