Across the dark chasm broken pieces of ice began their long drift south, certain to melt when they reached warmer water.

The exertion of the hike kept me warm on the frozen plateau, below me the icy black sea. Standing on the edge made my stomach queasy. It was the only thing that kept me from entertaining the thought of jumping.

Why did I come all this way to stand on the edge of the word?

I just had to get away. Away from my job and all of the hassle that went with it. I had to get away from the sorrow and pain of losing the only woman I had ever loved. Her cold, lifeless body lying on the hospital bed seemed colder than the place where I stood.

I had to get away to find myself again. There on the precipice I called out to God, needing to know if He was there. Needing to know that he knew me and my pain.

“Yes, Harold,” He whispered. “Not only do I know your pain, I suffered it for you and I am willing to take it from you.”

At that moment I knew I would be alright.