The Hill

Let's say you're on a hill.

At the bottom of it.

We'll call it rock bottom.

So you're on 'rock bottom' and you're wearing a shirt. A red shirt.

Christians wear red shirts.

There's someone standing at the beginning of a path that's parallel to your path.

They look just like you. Same skin color, same hair.

Different shirt.

It's purple and in bold, white letters, it says 'Gay'.

You both acknowledge each other with a nod and start walking up the hill.

No words exchanged. Just...walking.

Easy, right?

Two equally sized rocks are thrown at your feet from the top of the hill.

In black, bold letters the rocks say 'oppression'.

They're small enough to dodge, so you both avoid them with ease.

More rocks are thrown. They gradually increase in size as they're hurled your way.

And the hill gets steeper, but you still climb.

By this time, the person next to you is focusing on their own struggle, while you're focusing on yours.

And the hill gets steeper, but you still climb.

You lose your footing, but you still climb.

A huge rock is in your way, but you still climb.

But, then you hear a cry for help.

Your fellow-climber has slipped on a slick spot in their path.

You watch them struggle, but they can't get up on their own no matter how hard they try.

You can see it in their eyes. They don't want to end back up at the bottom of the hill. They don't want to be stagnant. They have to keep going.

But still, you climb.

You climb because it was their choice for being gay.

You climb because to help them up is to support them and the shirts of all their supporters turn purple, from what you've heard and seen.

You climb because Christians wear red shirts.

And you climb because they've stopped calling for help.

They were in your field of vision.

They were within earshot.

You could have prayed and then waited for someone else to come rescue them.

But, there was no one around to wait for.

So, your options were limited.

So you proceeded to climb.

And neither of you made it to the top.