The Path

I’ve been on this path for as long as I can remember-sometimes walking, sometimes running but always moving forward.

Step, step, step.

For years the path was relatively easy.  There had been some unexpected twists and bumps as well as some detours that had frustrated me.  But overall there wasn’t anything I couldn’t handle and it had been a pleasant path to be on.  

After a long, rocky, twisty stretch the path suddenly turned a corner and in front of me was a smooth, straight path.  All around there were signs of springtime.  It was a welcome sight after the last twists and turns and I breathed a sigh of relief.  It didn’t happen often to have this kind of an easy path and I was filled with joy.  I ran along happily, excited about all the sights I could see down the way.  I couldn’t wait to get to those milestones and dreamt about what it would be like when I was there.

Step, step, step.

Suddenly without warning Darkness descended and violently shoved me off my path and onto another path.  This new path wasn’t at all like the last path or any I’d been on before.  I’d done rocky paths before, but this one was covered in sharp, jagged boulders that I had to climb over or around.  It was messy--muddy and covered in debris.  As I regained my balance and started to move forward again I realized that I had been severely injured when I had been shoved.  I looked down at my legs and saw that both were mangled.  Stopping was not an option and I had to keep moving forward on this messy, new path.

Step...step...step...

As I limped forward, I began to hear voices from others who were calling out while traveling on their paths:

“Don’t worry! That must have been the plan for you!  It will all turn out good!”  Good?  I wonder.  Darkness shoved me.  Does Darkness ever have a good plan?  

“You’re strong--you must have been chosen to travel your path since you can handle it!”  Huh, I think.  Sounds like a rotten gift.  

“At least you still have your arms!” Someone yells out.  I wonder how in the world that is helpful as I limp along.  I liked my legs.  They were different from my arms and very much a part of me.  

I nod my head as each voice speaks.  I understand.  They are trying to make sense of what happened to me.  I wish they would be quiet; they are hurting me more.

Some others come running up closer rather than calling from a distance.  They come near briefly and say, “Wow.  That’s a hard path you’re on.  You’re doing great!” And then quickly run back to the safety of their own path.  Again I nod.  I understand.  They care for me, but don’t know what to do and are possibly scared that the same thing could happen to them.  

Some who have traveled my path have come back to tell me that it will be ok--there are some spots up ahead that are better than where I am now.  They say that I will slowly learn to walk better and the pain will lessen but the limp will remain until the end of my path. These people are brave to have come back to places they had already struggled through to encourage me. I admire them.

And then there are those voices I hear through the fog calling out, “I’m here!  I don’t know what to do or how to help, but I’m here, my friend.”  And instead of running back to the safety of their path they rearrange their path to be close to mine.  They are getting messy right along with me.  

Step...step...step...

Regularly these people ask how I’m doing.  They listen to me ramble on about how unfair it is or how in pain I am.  They listen to me talk about my old path and how I miss it and what it would be like if I were still on it.  They understand if I need to be silent.  They let me cry.  They don’t try to make up answers to the whys.  They spend time with me just being friends. I can see on their faces that being close to my path sometimes makes them uncomfortable, but yet they stay close.  They stay right by me urging me to keep going. To do one more step, and then another, and then another.

Step...step...step...

And then there’s one more Friend.  He doesn’t just walk near me--I feel His arm always around me.  I don’t--or can’t--hear Him say much other than “I’m here.”  I yell at this Friend often: Did He shove me off the path?  Was this His idea to bring me, injured, to this muddy, boulder filled path?  Why didn’t He stop the Darkness as it shoved me and injured me?  Other times I just cry to Him.  I hurt.  I’m not supposed to be here.  I get no answers.  Just, “I’m here.”

Sometimes when I look to my side, I can faintly see my old smooth path through the trees.  I see the milestones and the places where I thought I’d get to.  I want to jump off my current path and go over there but I know its impossible.  Sometimes I want to curl up and just escape this nightmare of a path and go back to that dream.  But my friends and my Friend help me keep putting one foot in front of the other.  “You are doing great,” someone says, “You’re stronger than you think!”  And that helps me keep going.

Step...step...step...

I hate this new path and the new way of walking, but at the same time I am starting to enjoy parts of it.  I have learned to appreciate the moments where the path clears up a bit.  I pause to look around and I enjoy the beauty that I see around me.  I enjoy the small things not knowing if around the bend Darkness waits for me again.  I appreciate those who have gotten messy with me.  I know as I watch them traveling close by that it can be uncomfortable for them but never before have I fully understood or needed true friendship.  And I have come to love the arm of my Friend that is always around me.  I used to think my Friend was just traveling the path near me--guiding me and pointing me the right way.  But now I understand that His arm has always been tight around me.  It is a love unlike any I have ever known.  

And I keep walking.

Step...step...step...