Just a Few More Steps and Other Poems
by Deborah Rutherford
JUST A FEW MORE STEPS
I lift up my eyes to the mountains—
where does my help come from?
My help comes from the Lord,
the Maker of heaven and earth.
–Psalm 121:1
The woods slope,
underfoot, covering crunches;
rays slice the emptying limbs,
amber and sepia swirl;
a rustle of leaves,
a chatter of birds.
Lost in solitude,
my ears eavesdrop
on the wild woodland,
quivering in the wake.
Sapphire butterflies’ flit
in the morning dew-scented
freshness of pines.
I grasp my hiking staff
and my Lord.
Behind me now,
the shrouded valley looms
with low, rolling clouds;
my vision obscured for days.
There, deep, murky pools
frothed wretched steam.
Howls caterwauled and
death feasted
with ebony crows
on carcass,
as I reached the foot
of the thick tree-clad ascent.
Beyond that dreadful shadow,
there was another vale
where I dipped into placid pools
and rested beside ripe meadowlands,
shimmering with wildflowers,
alive with bleats, buzzing, and song,
before traversing that horrid
dark soul of the night.
It was there
that I found my hiking staff,
and my Lord.
Now, above heavy clouds,
the tops turn fluffy and white;
a cool waft fans my face;
the sun's delight brushes.
My path dumps at a gorge,
one that plunges
as if the moist earth wept
when she split open,
and here were tears:
streaming waterfalls,
coursing rivulets,
birthing seeds for generations
of hemlocks and maples
laced with laurel and witch-hazel.
My own belly gushes,
my gulf of loss
and forbidden grief,
as I stagger in a wave of anguish,
peering into the soulless abyss
that seeks to sweep me under.
But a shadow of wings
lifts my eyes high and higher,
to a majestic tower
beyond the wooded canopy.
An ancient holy mountain,
moved by the mountain mover Himself,
swathed in golden florets
and lavender hues—
its shiny white peaks plume.
A stream rambles and gurgles,
a chorus of frogs.
My legs and lungs ache;
trails sharp and slippery,
I ascend thin air—
"Just a few more steps,"
the Spirit's winsome melody descants,
as if I would get lost
in the vista's trance.
I wonder,
"Can I go higher, my Lord?"
"Just a few more steps, my child,"
hums through my being.
Holding onto boulders,
polished by the wind,
I mount stone steps,
and set foot on the summit.
An ambrosial aroma
unfurls in my chest.
In the distance,
majestic ridges rise;
above, the blue and a pearl in the sky.
The mountain's symphony echoes
softly with the voice of God:
"Welcome, my child."
A veil slips open,
and I step through,
meeting other travelers as well.
Ahead, a table is set,
as long as my eyes can see.
I take my seat—
and there, I encounter my Lord
on this mountaintop.
SMOKEY MOUNTAINS ASCENT
Many people shall come and say,
“Come, and let us go up to the mountain of the Lord,
To the house of the God of Jacob;
He will teach us His ways,
And we shall walk in His paths.”
For out of Zion shall go forth the law,
And the word of the Lord from Jerusalem.
–Isaiah 2:3
We drove up curvy roads
under the forest's canopy,
a kaleidoscopic after the deluge.
Swallowtails fluttered,
and a black bear crossed quickly.
Entering the trail,
a bouquet ran wild 'neath
the misty mountains.
My hiking boots held steady
over slick rocks,
and I breathed air so fantastic
I couldn't get enough.
A majestic buck preened
at the creek's edge,
while a snake curled
on the side.
We climbed with careful steps,
way above the vale
of vibrant foliage
and breathtaking vistas.
Seeing old growth
with new growth
in the grace of life.
Here lives a world of bears,
bunnies, birds,
wild turkeys, and more.
Then we headed
into the mountain, descending
to a primordial forest floor
that led to the Baskins Creek Falls.
Ample yellowish leaves
and white flowers
mesmerized through fissures,
where the stream flowed
amongst smoothed mossy slabs.
We crunched through thick detritus;
rays streamed, water rushed,
and something rustled in the bushes.
We had read that this
was an easy hike.
After the return steep ascent,
we learned there are no easy hikes!
But the 40-foot fall was stunning,
and we ate apples under her spray.
A hike is like marriage;
each step is a careful one
so as not to slip.
There are moments
when you need to slide down
vertical trails to reach,
ravishing destinations,
which are challenging,
but with care, attainable.
My husband guided me up,
glass-like stones shone over the ages.
He held me close
near the narrow edges
and kept an eye out for a bear
when we saw droppings on the path.
I knew I was the only one
who was going to get me
up and down that mountain,
but my husband and a lot of prayer
would help.
We ascended higher and higher,
and stepped out of the dark ravine
onto the blessed mountaintop
where heaven and earth converged.
A paradisiacal cathedral
under heaven's dome;
scented wildflowers
swung in the fresh air.
We loved the majestic mountains
and towering Tennessee trees.
The boundless gloaming,
endless stars, and the moon
have never been closer than they were
on those peaceful and dazzling evenings.
Over the years,
these mountains beckoned us home
just as God did:
a hesed covenant—
and our ascent, a revelation
over holy peaks,
as we become one with God
and each other.
DEBORAH RUTHERFORD
Deborah loves Jesus, being Don's wife, singing old hymns, and nature walks under the Georgia pines. She is a poet, author, podcaster, and award-winning makeup artist with an Emmy, as well as the founder of the Behold-Her Beauty Podcast and Blog. She is the author of Unexpected Blessings: 40 Days of Discovering God's Best and the forthcoming Prodigal Daughter: Poems of Light for the Lost Ones. She has been published in The Way Back to Ourselves Literary Journal, Vessels of Light Literary Journal, Calla Press Literary Journal, The Truly Co. Magazine, and Prosetrics Literary Magazine.
You can follow her on Substack and Instagram.