Threshold

The old, narrow, cobbled street stretches behind me. I’ve walked it for some time now, between these faded, whitewashed, stone or brick buildings. Narrow doorways with battered wooden doors, some carved, some with brass knockers, some just … battered … line it in irregular intervals. A few have  narrow striped awnings above them, tattered, missing tassels, once jaunty with life, but now old and weary. Narrow, dark windows peer down onto the street. A few shutters, as battered as the doors, hang listlessly beside them. Here and there carved wooden screens shield the rooms from whatever sunlight might find its way inside. 

At times the street teems with life, bodies moving along it, voices raised in barter, sandals slapping the cobbles, coins clinking, small ceramic coffee cups rattling as they are set down on tiled tables. But now the street rests.

It’s between times. 

Waiting. 

I’ve traversed its length.

I come now, down its long, barely perceptible slope, to the end. 

I had thought it ended at a wall.

As I near it, I see it is a door. Closed yet.

No.

It opens in the dusk onto a misty, unknown expanse. 

The mist obscures what is ahead.

I can’t see. 

I hate that.

He has walked with me on this street. I glance at Him. 

There is really no choice.

The weight of time pushes us forward. It waits for no one. It moves us inexorably forward, willing or no. 

What will I … we … find past this threshold? 

Another, similar cobbled street, leading through the mundane, but so far unknown?

Desert dunes, dry and dusty, that suck resilience and courage out of hope?

Sandy beaches with lapping waves and whispering palm leaves, invitations to rest and repose?

Exhilarating roller coaster rides through exciting adventures?

Dark, heart-stopping, challenges of pain, fear, and disappointment?

Or a maze of paths through all of the above?

Wherever this path leads, it will be an unexpected gift, to be unwrapped one day, one step, at a time. 

With Him. 

Still holding His hand, I step forward into the mist.