To Cross the Bridge

I let him down.

This bridge I could have crossed–

I walked away.

I failed.

And I felt the failure like a knife in my gut.

With every step taking me further away from the bridge, the knife twisted.

It sent spasms of regret through my body.

How could I expect him to forgive me?

I couldn’t forgive myself.

I waited

as long as I could.

I stayed away

until I couldn’t anymore.

Then I faced him.

I tried to avoid his eyes,

but he looked at me and said,

“You were great.”

I looked up to see if there was sarcasm smeared across his face,

but there wasn’t.

There was only sincerity.

“You were great.”

He didn’t say I did good,

because I didn’t.

But that didn’t matter so much,

because I’m not valuable based on what I do, but who I am.

He went on to tell me

he was proud of me for even stepping up to the bridge.

Then he told me

how next time he knew I could

and next time he knew I would

cross it.

He even took time to explain how to keep putting one foot in front of the other.

He empowered me.

And you know what?

Today I stepped up to the bridge again.

And today I crossed it.

***

From the book my heart poured out by Jordan Aspen