Bridge

I was in Honduras 3 years ago with Volunteers in Medical Missions. We were there to provide primary medical care to the poor in the mountains of Yoro province, assisted by a local church. One day, we had to cross a long foot bridge across a very wide river. The bridge was somewhat modern, with steel supports and suspension wires, but the wooden boards that spanned the river were several inches apart. Between these boards, looking down, one could see the gravel river bed, then the flowing water. Although it technically wasn't, it seemed totally possible to me that one could slip through these wide spaces and fall to the river far below. At the beginning, because the gravel below was a different color than the boards, I was able to gauge where to step. Once the boards were over the same color river water, I could no longer see which was space and which was board. I was paralyzed, afraid, and stood perfectly still, certain I could go no farther. Suddenly, from behind me, a thin and smiling Honduran woman walked purposely to me. She linked her arm in mine, and, without pausing, continued her brisk stride, taking me with her. I could not be afraid, with her arm in mine. What a beautiful parable we made, walking together across that bridge. Bridges are made for crossing, sometimes we need a strong arm in ours.