Path Forward - 6. Path Forward

Path Forward

By Brandon Haines

I went down to the river not to wash away sin, but to remember who held me when the doctor came in.

The news was cold, but mercy was warm. I didn’t sing—

I whispered, and He still heard.

You climbed higher than my arms could reach,

carried by grace and the breath of God.

I stayed in the valley, with sore throat, ribs, and silence,

but I saw your shadow
on the mountain’s edge— not fading, just rising.

They say rest is sweet when the climb is done.

But I still feel your footsteps in my chest.

I’ve seen crosses too— not on highways,

but in hospital rooms,

in rocking chairs,

in arms that held me when your breath was stilled.

And I wonder, if my path forward is the fourth cross—

not the one that died, but the one that lives

to tell the story.

My prayers reach heaven, and there’s no higher.

But my arms still ache for the ones who showed me how to pray.

I rose despite the ache still in my chest, but the Word was louder than the wound.

The silence broke like morning light—

and I spoke because He still lives.

When the valley dimmed, and the river froze,

when the mountain felt too far to climb— You were there.

Not just presence, not just comfort, but Christ the Answer.

You lit the silence from the inside out, and I walked forward by the glow of your Grace.

Don’t cry too long, I’ve seen the garden. The ache you carry is the seed I planted with every prayer.

When I get where I’m going, I’ll ask Him to keep whispering your name until you rise.