by Bill Moore
Nearly every Sunday afternoon when I was young, my dad and mom took our family on a drive. On one summer Sunday, we stopped at a small playground. While my younger brothers and sisters played on the swings and teeter-totter, I started to scale the monkey bars. My father came over and pointed out the great distance between the ladder’s top rung and the first horizontal bar. I said I was sure I could reach the bar. He agreed, but cautioned that it might be harder to get down than to climb up.
I went ahead, jumped for the bar, grabbed it, and leveraged myself with legs and arms to the top of the steel structure. It was high. I waved to the “little kids” below, certain that they admired big brother’s accomplishment.
Then I wanted to get down. I lowered myself, hanging by my hands from the end bar. But, when I swung my feet to the ladder, they didn’t reach its top rung.
The ground was far below; I was afraid to let go and drop. My arms ached, so with my last ounce of strength, I managed to climb back on top. After resting, I tried to get down again without success.
Then my dad announced it was time to go. My brothers and sisters headed toward the car with my mom. I called to my father, “I can’t get down.” He came over and said he had warned me that might be a problem, but I went ahead and climbed up anyway. I’d have to get down by myself.
I started to whimper, but let myself down by my arms again and tried to swing and stretch to reach the ladder. “See, I can’t,” I said.
“Then drop,” my father said.
“It’s too far,” I sobbed, “I’ll hurt myself.”
“Well, you got up there,” my father insisted, “so you’ll just have to get yourself down.”
I pulled myself back up to the top and began to cry and shout, “You’ve got to help me!”
My father said, “We will wait for you in the car.”
After a few minutes sitting atop the monkey bars crying, I lowered myself, let go of the bar, dropped to the ground, and shambled, embarrassed and angry, to the car.
Out of respect for my dear departed father, I must acknowledge that, when I asked him about this incident in later years, he said he didn’t remember it. But, whether accurate or embellished, the memory comes to mind when I read Sunday’s gospel. There Jesus cautions his followers that being his disciple will be much harder than they think.
- Share an experience that challenged you beyond anything you imagined.