Building the Bridge

From behind, I heard a familiar voice call my name. Turning, I recognized people from a nearby village.They had come down the mountain, bringing materials to build a bridge. My heart lept! I ran to them. A bridge.... We wouldn't have to ford the river after all! With a whistle on my lips, I plunged right in, helping carry the wood planks with my new friends.

But soon, I heard cutting remarks and impatient, harsh words. At one point, I heard unkind joking; glancing towards the speakers, I saw them scorning a woman.  Tears glistened in her eyes;  fire flashed across her face. Had these people lost sight of the importance of their work that they would cut one another down? This was no way to accomplish the work. The woman saw me looking at her; I smiled, she looked down -- embarrassed.  Perhaps she felt everyone thought unkindly of her. I turned to approach her, but a hard blow to my head sent me staggering backwards; I crumpled to my knees, the ground spinning around me.

"Hey, what happened here?" It was the foreman.

Angry voices responded. "She walked directly into the path of the planks!" "It wasn't our fault!" "She wasn't doing her job!" "She's causing problems!" "She's disrupting the work!"

"Who is she anyway? She's not part of my crew. Does anyone know her? Move her out of here and get back to work."

Someone lifted me to my feet and lead me away from the work area to a boulder close to the river. The coolness of the rock felt good against my head. The workers continued arguing and yelling; the sounds all melding together as I lost consciousness.

When I awoke, night had fallen. Someone had lain a cloak over me while I slept and had left a canteen for me. Tasting the coolness of the water, I remembered the healing stream from the mountain, and I felt the throbbing in my head subside. As my eyes focused into the darkness, I discovered the workers had gone and taken everything with them; not a single tool or plank of wood remained. There would be no bridge now.

"Shepherd?" I called out. There was no answer. He must have left me when I turned to the building of the bridge. He had been facing the workers as they approached the river. He would have seen them, known they were coming to build the bridge. Yet, he had spoken of taking the long way, of fording the river downstream. He had invited me to join him the moment before I turned away. But, someone had called my name. Even now, the familiarity of their voice stayed in my mind, but I couldn't place it. The Voice had known me, yet I hadn't known any of the workers personally nor had anyone come out to welcome me when I joined them. What did it matter now? I had turned away from my beloved Shepherd because I didn't want to face the dangers of the river downstream. And now, I was alone.

A stiff breeze blew across my face; clouds were rolling in.


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