I’ve been at the end of my rope before, many times.

Circumstances created by me, or circumstances beyond my control- both of them led to an avalanche of detritus that assailed me as I clung to my proverbial rope, trying to hang on.

I tied a knot and hung on.

Usually, I can feel the slipping. The formerly steady ground starting to give. A slow, steady, slide into an abyss of overwhelming hopelessness.

When I feel it, I go into self care mode. I eat clean and mindfully. I exercise. Try to get enough sleep. Do my devotions. Pray.

Most of the time, I will get back on steady ground, and the sand and gravel that made my path a slippery slope are ground down, whisked away in the wind, and I’m on the path to calm, serene trust.

Right now, I feel as if I’ve been shoved off a cliff.

I grabbed the rope and tied the knot even as I swung through the air, and I’m clinging to it, even as I am being bashed into the side of the rock face.

Cold granite against my face, rough. My feet are dangling. My hands are stinging from the rough braid of the rope. My arms strain from the effort.

I wasn’t ready this time.

I hadn’t planned on becoming a rock climber, but as I catch my breath and center myself, I look up.

I’ll keep my head up.

I’ll start my ascent.

I’ll trust the Lord.

He’s got me. He’s never let me go.