Imagine an enormous, foreboding mountain with dense vegetation, sort of like an Amazon jungle mountain.
At first, I tried to travail the mountain myself and Jesus was nowhere. Tired and dirty, my clothes ripped, my body exhausted, I couldn't climb anymore. It began to rain. Mud everywhere. Rocks, big trees, hearing the howling of the wind, tree branches swaying and cracking. I was alone. No one could hear me. I cried out to Jesus to help me and He appeared out of nowhere. He was just there.
I had no more strength to continue the journey. It was stormy, rainy, windy and the weather was growing worse by the minute. Jesus picked me up and carried me in His arms. I clung to His neck, sobbing. Jesus' feet were bare. His feet were cut, bruised, bleeding, but He easily held me in His arms as we climbed the treacherous mountain.
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