"Give me this mountain!"

Have you ever had images and phrases come to your mind that seem poetic in nature?  That happened to me in early June and since I didn't know how to write poetry, I settled for prose.  I'm sure I learned poetry-writing in high school, but that knowledge fled years ago.

I feel like I'm about to expose my tender underbelly, since I don't usually write like this, but I feel it's time to share this... (what do I call it?)...poetic prose. Here goes...

“Give me this mountain!” I timidly cry out, growing more confident even as I say it.  Inspired by Caleb (Joshua 14:12), I know that with the Lord’s help I can conquer this mountain—this land of giant appetites—this insurmountable problem of overeating.  I can visualize success.  I can see myself on top of the mountain, planting my banner, pleased and proud; uplifted and made conqueror by the hand of the Lord.

So I begin my journey.

Yesterday it was “Give me this mountain!” and I advanced two steps.  But today I cry, “Remove this mountain!”  For I am no longer advancing at a snail’s pace up the side, I realize I am trapped beneath.  Buried.  One minute I am on the side, and the next minute, with one misstep (was it the popcorn?), I find myself beneath.  Surrounded by darkness, crushed and whimpering.  The mountain is planted squarely on top. 

“Someone call IX-I-I!”  I smirk.  I cannot cry out.  I am smothered, alone.  As I lay beneath the mountain, I ponder.  Where did I go wrong?  Where was my misstep?  How did I get beneath instead of on top?  Was it the Kentucky Fried Chicken?  But it was a better choice than Wendy’s or A&W, wasn’t it?  And I only ate one side of green beans and gave the biscuit to coworker Bill.  Oh!  I should have planned better.  I should have foreseen I would go from one job to another and not have time to eat.  Yes.  That’s it.  I should have planned better.

But wait.  Maybe it was the popcorn.  I wanted the popcorn from Low Book Sales.  I just had to have it.  But then maybe it was eating too much Panda Express followed by too much watermelon followed by…

I sob.  What’ the use? 

I lay very still and cry.  I pray.  “Lord, yesterday I faced the mountain and started to climb.  Today I am beneath.  Why?”

Staring into the darkness, I see clearly. “Give me this mountain” indeed.  I am within.  I built it around and over me, first as a shelter, then as a façade—layer by layer of sediment settling more solid year after year.  My relationship with food covers it, like vegetation that grows on the mountainside, where I graze and gorge in comfort, ignoring what lies beneath.

“Give me this mountain.”  Indeed, the mountain is mine, and it must be removed, not climbed.  With my Savior’s help, I can move the mountain…one shovelful at time.  I must sift through the dirt, examine it, acknowledge or discard it, until I am free.  And then I will stake my banner – on solid, level, ground.

“Remove this mountain.”  So it is that shovel turns to pen, mountain turns to paper.  And I write.