“Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.” Robert Frost, American poet
There is a trail near our home just isolated enough that Miles dog can run free, but in view of enough homes that I feel safe when it’s just the two of us. It wanders along a creek that’s full of mallards on any day and is occasionally host to a great blue heron or some other special thing.
Today, the lure wasn’t birds. It was a rare mix of deepish snow (at least six inches) and blinding sun. We crunched-crunched along, feeling every muscle in a delightful way. It was a good hike. A very good hike. Even though one sock stubbornly resisted staying put.
And, even though the snow made it difficult to tell where the trail actually went.
With nothing except an occasional deer or rabbit track to guide us, we simply went where we hoped the path went. Sometimes we were right and the ground was level and predictable. Other times, we were fooled by a wide space between trees and wandered into unexpected dips or a bit of muddy slush lurking under the sheet of white.
No matter. We could generally see where we were going. It’s not like we were trying to walk a tightrope or dodge bear dens. And, even if we had tripped over a rock or a log, the landing would have been a soft one. Snow will do that for you.
So will God. If you’ll let Him.
This is true even if you are young — trying to make your first big life decisions in a world where COVID has obliterated all sense of direction.
This is true even if you are a middle-aged woman whose career is twisting like a weather vane. A mesmerizing if daunting sight indeed.
This is just true.
So, fear not. Look ahead. But, listen for God’s still, small voice. It’s there — I promise. You’ll hear it if you quiet your spirit. Left, He whispers. Right, He calls.
Then, move. One foot. The other. Trusting that you’re on the path. Knowing that if you stumble off here or there that God will cushion you, catch you, re-direct you. God will do that for you.