Paths

It was a cold day, and at last I had to tell her that we couldn't take the bike.

And we stood there, surrounded by coats and hats, as I tried to make her see that the snow was deep and her mother was tired, and there was only one way.

To walk.

And it took awhile to make her see the sense in all of it. Her kindergarten brain trying to take in my logic. But she got it, she understood. And as she signed for "mother", pointed at me, and then wrapped her arms around herself, my heart melted.

She wanted to go see my mother... to hug her.

To be enveloped in the embrace of someone who's taken her in with a smile, no matter the inconvenience or the bustle. My mother... who is now just like her own. And so, as we bundled up, pulling on fleecy pants, adjusting coats, wrapping scarfs, and grabbing hats and mitts, I braced myself.

It's a long climb to my house from where hers is. She lives near main street, and I live closer to the hills. But that light in her eyes as she asked if my mother would be home, and as I answered that I didn't know, was enough. Enough to face wind that cut through layers, ice patches that required maneuvering, and walking slowly.

Because she has a limp, this loved one of mine. She shuffles as she walks, and scars trace her body from surgeries, but it only makes the walk even more an act of love.

And as we come up to that one light in town, she pulls me forward, remembering with that brilliantly exact mind of hers how to get to my house. She has a nack for remembering, for knowing exactly how to get to each of her loved one's houses, but she was following the route that we normally took on the bike, and not the one that was the easiest to walk.

And so I tugged back, trying to use my weight to my advantage, because we almost weigh the same. And she followed.... reluctantly.

She kept on pointing  to the direction that she was used to taking, the one that was known, and as we walked down a different sidewalk, she would pause and try and make me understand that we were going the wrong way. And I would calm her down, assuring her that I did really know where I was going.

And as I said those words... they reminded me of Another.

He says those same words to me these days: "Don't worry... I know where we're going."

And I pull and tug and point, saying, "I know what's best. Can't you see? This is how it's supposed to work out!"

I shuffle, I move slowly. He is capable of going so much faster than me.

But He waits... patiently.

And as she and I turned that corner and started walking up the hill that I traverse every day to school, we started going in the direction that she wanted, and she started to relax.

We finally arrived at our destination, and as I pulled off those boots, scarfs, mittens, hats, coats, sweaters, and other layers that we had put on, it was brought to my mind once again.

This year, with everyone asking what my future is looking like leaves me struggling to find peace. I squirm, feeling as if I should have a satisfactory answer, but having none. I have ideas, but I also have the distinct impression that He likes to blow those ideas out of the water with the ones that He has in store for me.

And I know that I won't understand. I'll want to take the conventional route, to do it the easy way. But I'll have to struggle, to stumble, to shuffle, to wonder why He's taking me in a direction so opposite to what I had planned.

And then I'll understand, when we finally turn that corner, and when we reach that place, wherever it may be.

But He does know my way. And I hope that I will remember... and go more willingly.