The dog gets to the stile first. She always has. Eleven years of evenings and she has never once taken the low path of her own accord: she runs ahead along the bottom of the hill with the bay going copper below her, and when she reaches the wooden stile in the stone wall she goes through it and up two steps of the top path and turns round and waits, tail going, for a man who does not come.
He stops at the stile. He puts his hand on the top rail, which is worn pale where his hand has been, and he says what he has said every evening for two winters. Not tonight, girl. And the collie looks at him a moment longer, and comes back down through the stile, and they take the low path round the hill with the other evening walkers, a couple with a stroller, a man with a terrier, a girl running with music in her ears.
The top path goes to a rock above the bay. For nine years he went up there every evening and said his wife's name to God out loud, and asked, and came down. She has not been well for a long time. Nothing has changed in the body he sleeps beside, not in six years, and every appointment has come back the same, and every time he asked and it came back the same, something went out of him that he could not spare. And one evening in November two winters ago he stood at the stile and found he had nothing left to be disappointed with, and he said, not tonight, girl, and took the low path, and he has taken it since. He did not stop believing. He stopped being able to bear it.
You are the one at the stile. Not a dog and a hill, perhaps; a name you stopped saying to God, a subject you set down and walked round. You did not put it down out of unbelief. You put it down because you could not survive being disappointed by it one more time. And under that, quietly, a fear you have never said out loud: that the silence has been counted, that the way up was shut while you were quiet, and that going back would mean promising to keep going back, which you cannot promise.
The asking did not stop when you did
Here is the verse I want you to keep, and it was written to people who had run out of words.
Likewise the Spirit helps us in our weakness. For we do not know what to pray for as we ought, but the Spirit himself intercedes for us with groanings too deep for words.Romans 8:26
Read what Paul names as the condition. Not unbelief. Not laziness. We do not know what to pray for as we ought. That is exactly what happened at the stile: you did not know how to ask it again, not after the last time, and Paul says that condition has a remedy and the remedy is not you trying harder. It is the Spirit Himself. On the nights you took the low path, the asking did not stop. It moved. It went into Him, and it came out as groaning too deep for words, at the throne, on your behalf, while you walked round the bottom of the hill with the terrier man and the stroller. You have an intercessor who did not go quiet when you did, and the two winters of your silence were two winters of the Spirit's asking. That is written in Romans 8, and it is His Spirit, not your stamina, who kept the subject open where it mattered.
Let me say something plainly, because this site is built on it and I will not bury it at the bottom. God heals. That is what He has said about the body, and I say it over the body you sleep beside without a flinch. What I do not do is promise you the result, because that was never mine to promise and never yours to produce. We say what He has said; He does what He does. And that is exactly why coming back up the path costs you nothing: you were never the one carrying the outcome. You were only ever the one carrying the name.
The throne has a name
The letter to the Hebrews says to draw near with confidence to the throne of grace, that we may receive mercy and find grace to help in time of need (Hebrews 4:16). Look at what the throne is called. Not the throne of accounts. Not the throne of attendance. Grace. Nobody at that throne is keeping a tally of how many evenings since you last came up, and confidence to approach it is written into the invitation rather than earned by turning up. You are welcome at a throne whose name is grace, and the confidence to walk up to it was given to you in the same sentence that named it. That is Hebrews 4, and it is the Spirit who walks you up the top path, not the strength of your legs.
And the morning you come back on is a morning. The steadfast love of the Lord never ceases, His mercies never come to an end, they are new every morning (Lamentations 3:22-23). Every morning. The verse does not carve out the mornings after a long silence. You have mercies that are new on the morning you come back, because they are new on every morning and this one is a morning. It is written in Lamentations, in the middle of the saddest book in the Bible, and it is His Spirit who makes that line a doorway and not a motto.
What the silence was, and what it was not
Now the pit, because you are standing in it and I am not going to talk over your head. The disappointment was real. Every time it came back the same, something went out of you, and it did not come back, and one November there was nothing left to be disappointed with. Nobody here is going to call that unbelief. He does not. Isaiah says of the Lord's servant that a bruised reed he will not break, and a faintly burning wick he will not quench (Isaiah 42:3). A reed bent to the ground by two winters is exactly what that verse is about. You are a bruised reed, and He does not break those; He steadies them. That is Isaiah 42, and it is His Spirit who holds what is bent rather than snapping it off to tidy the field.
And hear what is not being asked of you. You are not being asked to promise you will keep coming up. The psalm says pour out your heart before Him (Psalm 62:8); it does not say sign for a season. The faith Jesus asked for was the size of a mustard seed, and He asked for it to be spoken, out loud, to the mountain. Notice how small the required thing is. Not nine more years of evenings. Not a vow. One sentence, once, after however long. The mountain at the stile is the belief that the way up was shut while you were quiet, and you do not have to argue with it or prove your record to it. You put your hand on the rail and you say the name.
And one more thing before the picture, because four years of not asking is not a small weight. If it has taken you somewhere darker than tired, if you find yourself not wanting to be here, tell one human being today. In the United States, call or text 988. Anywhere else, your local crisis line, and one person who will sit with you this evening. A page is not enough for that. You deserve a person beside you.
So here is what has happened at the stile while you were reading. You came with your hand on the rail and a name you had stopped saying. You have heard Paul say that not knowing how to ask is the very condition the Spirit takes over, and that His groaning ran through both your winters. You have found the throne named grace and the mercies dated this morning, and heard Isaiah say the bruised reed is held and not broken. You have a God who kept the subject open at His own throne for the whole time you could not, and who calls the way back up grace and not an audit. That is Romans 8 and Hebrews 4 and Lamentations 3, and it is His Spirit who is telling you so with the dog already through the stile.
I will not tell you what He does with the body afterwards, because I do not know, and He heals in His own way and answers as He answers, and I leave that to Him with both hands open. What is yours is not the outcome and not a promise. It is one sentence, once, said up on the rock.
Declare this over yourself
Now these, out loud, on the top path, with the collie ahead of you. Whoever is in Christ has been given the standing to speak to what is in front of them, and to speak to God about it plainly, so this authority belongs to you and was not withdrawn during the winters you were quiet. Scripture is the ground under each line, and it is the Holy Spirit who carries a spoken word to the throne, not the number of times it has been said. The mountain here is a stile you believed was locked; you speak to it, then to the fear underneath it, then to Him. He heals in His own way and answers as He answers, and the result was never yours to promise or mine to guarantee, and I leave the outcome to Him. What you do is put your hand on the rail and open your mouth.
- Stile at the top of the low path, you were never locked, and I am putting my hand on you tonight. Hebrews says the throne is a throne of grace and I draw near to it with confidence, and nobody at that throne is counting the winters I was gone.
- Whisper that my silence offended Him, you are a lie and I hand you back, in the name of Jesus. Romans 8 says the Spirit was groaning for me on the very nights I said nothing, and His asking never stopped when mine did.
- Lord, here is her name and here is the thing, one sentence, after two winters, and I say it knowing You heal and knowing the result is Yours and not mine to promise. I thank You, because Your mercies were new on this morning too, and I am on the top path again with the dog ahead of me.
Romans 8:26
This message is free, and always will be. There is nothing to unlock, nothing to subscribe to, and nothing you owe for having received it.