In his famous poem, The Road Not Taken, Robert Frost wrote:
Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;
Even while I write this post, I sense the road before me forking, diverging. But unlike the traveler in Robert Frost’s poem, I have no sorrow, no regret. I know I cannot travel both. As a person of faith, I believe God directs my path, that His word “is a lamp to guide my feet and a light for my path.” (Psalm 91).
In a world full of forks and curves and potholes, there is only one correct road for each person to travel. The trick is determining which one it is.
In my writing life, I often envision myself standing before a winter field covered in pristine, unbroken snow. Behind me are the only prints, my own, leading back to the place where I started. What lies ahead? I don’t know, the path is buried in the snow. Yet I sense the “still small voice” whispering to me not to be afraid, encouraging me to take the first step as it did with Elijah in the Old Testament book of 1Kings.
It’s just a whisper, though, a feather against my heart, gentle and unassuming. I strain to hear it, to feel it, in a world of clamoring distractions. Is this the direction God is truly leading me? Is this the path I am called to follow? The path has been challenging, to say the least, filled with highs, very deep lows, and many obstacles. Then there's always the other voice, clamoring loud and long for me to just stop and go back, that I'm already on the wrong path.
Two voices. Two roads. Three choices: left, right, or go back. Which one?
Events this week will help determine that question for me. The road diverges before me. I am nervous to see whether doors will open for me. Whichever fork I take, I know I am moving out of my comfort zone and stepping into pristine snow , , ,
“Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.”
I hope you will follow me on my journey!