Caleb’s Vision: Taking that Mountain

Copyright 4/26/13 by Sarah G. Pemberton                                                                   121

 

There are many who dwell

At the base of The Mountain,

Few who are willing to climb it.

Fewer still build at high altitude,

Where every breath is

A Challenge to master.

Fewer still challenge the

Foreign Armies which guard it.

‘Til now, none have dared

The Giants which own it.

 

The base is safe.  Familiar.  Little risk.

A few may play at climbing up a ways –

Hikers enjoy a trail or two,

Blazed by others long before –

“A nice place to visit,”

Most would say,

“But only an eagle

Would want to live there.”

 

But upon those dizzying heights,

The eagle builds an aerie home,

And the Adventurous Pioneers boldly roam,

Compelled by the call of a Vision.

“Do you know how many annually die

Attempting to conquer that mountain?”

 

“But that mountain is mine,”

An Ancient Saint chimed.

“God gave me that mountain,

When I was young,

When others died

Rejecting the Promise.

 

With my Bow of Bronze

And my Chariot of Fire,

I’ll find Strength in my God;

I will go up much higher

Than all the naysayers

Have claimed that I should.

His Word is my Rock;

And a Cross made of Wood

Would guarantee me

The Power of Desire

As a Tree of Life,

Fulfilled for my children,

And for all I envision

To share this inheritance

Always and ever,

In the Covenant of My King.

 

At the base, now are many

Who are willing to fight,

To bravely pursue

Until the dawn’s light.

The battle rages fiercely,

And they hold their own ground.

 

But the higher I go,

Dim echoes the sound

Of the battle cries lower.

Fewer stay with me

To follow after Him:

As a Hind on high places,

I follow His Steps

As His holy commands,

By His grace, I have kept.

 

“Disparage not those

At the base of your mountain;”

The Lamb gently chides,

As I drink from His Fountain

Of Living Water rushing

Rushing down the steep side.

“Without their fierce fight,

You could not have slipped past

The guard of the Enemy’s Camp,

To at last make it here to the Crest –

Their lives gave you th’ Best.

Carry the Water down;

Carry it back to them.”

 

“But Lord, how I’ve wanted

To build my home here,

To worship You always

Where the air is so clear!

Many friends down below

Tell me that I’m forbid

To even have a right

To stay with You, hid

From the Enemy’s claws

Here on Your Holy Mountain.

They call this Vision

You gave me

A Lie,

To believe that

My place is

Yet by Your side.”

 

“Indeed it is true,

My Child Who believes;

There are many who claim

That this Mountain deceives.

It only deceives those

Who climb on their own,

Who fall to their deaths

Like small, shattered stones.

But to those who stay close

To the Feet of the Lamb,

It is the Gateway to Heaven’s

Full Vision so grand

To which every dear saint

Is invited to come.

So many are called,

So few call this home.

 

“It’s lonely at the top.”

Not just a cliché anymore.

But below in the valley,

I’ve to settle a score

With the Enemy whose lies

Cause the anguished, weak cries

Of my brethren below

Whose love supplied all

That to this height I might climb.

 

And so with a servant’s

Water bucket of wood,

Made from the Cross,

Which I followed this far,

I take one more glance

At the clear, so-near stars,

Descending to carry

To those down below

The Living Water so clear

Won so dearly by blood

Of brave souls on the front

Of Life’s deadliest war.

Water to refresh them,

Though they may not believe

The Source of refreshment

They desperately receive.

 

I will return to my mountain,

But not until all of my brothers

Have also obtained what is theirs.

Its visits as I’m able

Will keep my soul stable,

Until the time comes

To never leave it again.

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