It is in the impossible time, we are closest to God. This poem was first lived in 1999, then later in 2004. Each time more refining. More intimacy with God.

Walking the Narrow Impossible Path

Danger from any misstep.
This path like walking the ridge
leading to Mt. Everest
a slip each way leads to death.

You demand I walk
this treacherous path.
You do not force me
yet I must obey You.

You call to me. “Relax.
Trust Me. Be not afraid.”
I look down.
I do not see you.

Terror seeks to seize my soul.
Terror seeks to freeze my will.
Terror seeks to keep me from you.
Terror seeks to keep me prisoner.

Like Peter on the water
I take my eyes from you.
Disaster strikes, I start to slip.
I cannot do this on my own.

You reach out your hand to me.
I cannot see you, but I trust you.
We walk this impossible path together.
I relax and give myself to you.

© Presbypoet, 1999, revised January 18, 2004

The fire John McCain has gone through, (literal on the deck of the Forrestal), has refined his character. Those who have not gone through fire cannot understand such as these.