Stumbling Around in The Light

Mommy Sabbatical

"Come away...," He calls to me.

So, finally, sixteen years overdue, I take a 'Mommy Sabbatical.'
Four days, four nights, alone in a solitary place; away with my Jesus.

Time away from my husband.
Time away from children.
Time away from chores, and schedules, and demands.
Time away from pleasing others.

Time to see beyond the chaos of my busy-filled life.
Time to rest.
Time to read.
Time to write.
Time to run.
Time to sit in the sun.
Time to do nothing.

Time to live naked with my Creator, remembering, experiencing, that He did not make me to walk in shame.

Hours and hours out at Red Rocks, running, hiking, sitting, soaking.  Relishing the at-last clear view, grinning with the View-Designer, "wow, Lord!"  And feeling His answering delight, "I know, I know...such grandeur, isn't it!"

No one to prepare meals for, clean up after; I eat when I'm hungry, and leisurely tidy up right away.  Decadent, organic, gluten-free, health&life-giving savory bites of greens, fish, tomatoes, sugar-snap peas, rice crackers, chocolate.  So much ice-water sipped in the sunshine; and the naughty indulgence of all the diet soda I want, right out of the bottle!

The only agenda is the call of the Holy Spirit.
Watch taken off; left on the bathroom counter.  Sleep when I'm tired; wake when I'm rested.  Sit on the deck and practice the words of James...or just watch the solitary cloud-puff meander by.

After 24 hours, I begin to see more clearly, breathe more deeply.
After 48 hours, petty irritations slip away; I smile into the emptiness of a room full of the fire-warming presence of Christ's Grace.
After 72 hours, the slow-release finally succumbs to sincere rest, joy that might even overcome circumstances.
My angst-filled cry of "Hosanna! God, help me!"...becomes a contented and coming-to-understanding sigh of "ahhhhhleluia...."

And each night, slipping solitary into the hot-tub, gazing up at the stars: awed by His Glory, overwhelmed by gratitude.  "Who am I Lord God, and who is my family, that You have blessed us so?"

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I awake Monday morning...with a sigh of sadness.

Yeah, wishing I was so holy & fulfilled, rested & refueled, rarin' to head back into the craziness of home & kids & schedules & diapers & laundry.  But...not so much.

No, I woke Monday morning and wished I had another week.  Maybe then I could come to a place of really missing the crew.  But after four days?  I just wanted more of God.  Okay, and the peace of sleeping till 9 in the morning without some little person needing me.  And yeah, the joy of just sitting in the sunshine doin' nuthin.

Still - I did find this:
I found a strange sorta beyond-myself peace for loving the children even when we headed straight into a week of home school madness & birthday parties & puke-up-yer-guts flu virus.

I found a tenderness for Kevin where one-week-prior I might've bit back with my own dose of over-exhausted-bitter-woman venom.

I found longed-for pleasure in running, finally, after a decade of wishing for it, between so many months of pregnancy & nursing.

I found new delight in His Word again, all at once thirsty and quenched, after weeks of dry-mouth in the desert.

And now - back in the reality of home & family & chores & schedules & demands -
I have found that I am the same ol' cranky woman...
unless
I take time,
every day,
for a taste of that Mommy Sabbatical.

Oh - and I promise you this -
I won't wait sixteen more years for the next getaway!
No, I don't deserve it, and I didn't earn it.
But I need it. 
I need time away with Jesus.

"Then, because so many people were coming and going that they did not even have a chance to eat, He said to them, 'Come away with me by yourselves to a quiet place and get some rest.'  So they went away by themselves in a boat to a solitary place."  --Mark 6:31-32

Have you ever taken time away to rest & refuel?  How do you get a taste of that God-time on a weekly/daily basis?  Seriously - tell me about it!  I could use some creative ideas...and maybe someone else could too...

Pushing To Failure

"Pushing to failure is the only way to measure what you are capable of."

I was skimming thru his blog post, and then there it was.
Stopped me cold.  Eyes fixed; reading & re-reading that single sentence.

The whole paragraph, really.  Grabs me.  Convicting, inspiring.

"Not had any big failures in your life? Then with all due respect, you haven’t tried much and/or haven’t come close to achieving all you were created to be.
Pushing to failure is the only way to measure what you are capable of."

'Cause I don't really push that hard.  Just to the point of getting uncomfortable...then I quit.

I mean, who likes to fail?  Easier to say, "oh, I'm so tired; my knee hurts, I'll just walk for awhile..."  But to keep running, to keep pushing, until I actually fall from exhaustion, until I actually run out of strength, until I puke from the sheer overexertion, and still barely reach the finish line?  Have I ever?

(Okay, well, yeah...seven times, with childbirth; but it's not like there are any easy-way-out options there...)

Let us run with endurance the race that is set before us...

Do we really have much endurance?  In our posh, comfortable, westernized society?

I don't think so.  When the going gets hard, we head to Starbucks.  When my life is in shambles, I need pie.  Had a hard day?  Bring me a glass of sweet red Pinolem wine...

With this back-to-school insanity we're in, I already feel pushed to the limit.  I mean, it is seriously redonkulous.  I'm creating individual schedules for the three older kids (6th, 10th, & 10th grades), to outline their different activities, part-time classes, chores, and blocks of home school lessons.  Then another schedule for the younger boys (kinder & 1st), and a 'master schedule' for me, to juggle all the different home school lessons, naptimes with little ones (1 & almost 3), chauffering to different sports & music classes.  It feels too much, too full.

And I haven't even seriously launched into all their home school lessons!!

When things get crazy I tend to speak lies like this:
I've had enough!
I can not take anymore of this!
I'm overwhelmed!

But really?  I can't run any harder? any further?

I think I can.  I think I really can do all these things I'm called to, thru Christ who strengthens me, to walk worthy of my calling.  I think I really can run this race with endurance, running to win the prize.  Not just to drag in at the end...but to endure, and run with strength, with words of love & encouragement, with patience I couldn't possibly possess on my own.

'Cause this is giving up:
"I don't care if it won't fit in your backpack; get in the car right this minute before I chunk that show-&-tell airplane right into the garbage!!"

I can do better than that.

I wanna push harder.  Even if I fail along the way.
I wanna find out what I'm really capable of. 
And I think it's alot more than I realize.

Anywhere you need to run with a little more endurance?
Have you ever pushed all the way to failure, and truly measured what you're capable of?

Unfinished Projects

I've got alotta unfinished projects in my life.

I've been meaning to finish the deck stain, every day this week.

I'm almost done, y'know. But...not quite.

And that order for Ian's glasses? Right online here on a tab...somewhere...but I haven't finished the measurements quite yet, so, well...I'll get it done in the morning.  Oh, and I'll need to finish switching all that business phone billing tomorrow too.  Dang, I can't forget to do that thank-you note for my neighbor...

Everywhere I look: unfinished projects.

We started the trim last year, but golly, it's really time-consuming for Kevin to mill the Aspen wood, and things have been so busy, and well, then there is the driveway work.  Gonna need several loads of rock & roadbase to get it completed, but that's some big bucks, so, we'll see...

Last summer I started running again. I was gonna work up to 5k distance, and run the local 'Mayor's Cup' race.  Been working on losing those 15 pounds of baby-weight for, hmmm, a year now, I guess.  I've worked off a few; maybe 10 more to go.  But, well - it's hard to make running & exercise a priority, when I'm juggling everything else, so....

And good grief, don't even get me started on the landscaping...or lack thereof...

Do ya' feel my pain?  Seriously?  Am I the only one who has something like 27 different projects up in the air at any given time?

There are days, when I just wanna give up and never get outta bed. Then there are days when I launch myself into fifty different things, like Superwoman-Elastagirl on steroids, and work myself into a frustrated frenzy.  Neither extreme is workin' for me, y'know.

So my artist friend Adina says to me -
"Well, Teri, isn't that what our life in Christ is all about?
Aren't we all just unfinished projects?"

Oh.
Yeah.

Maybe I don't need to be so depressed about that which is left undone...or frantically strive to arrive at some perfect completion.

Perhaps the place of contentment resides somewhere between frenetic action and frustrated apathy.

What if contentment is as simple as doing my best,
finding gratitude in the mid-project-progress,
trusting The Builder to bring the project to purposed-completion,
in His timing, according to His standards?

The more I think about it, the more I figure some of these unfinished projects might just be the best thing I've got going...

Got any unfinished projects? How do you find peace amidst the work-in-progress?

In His Updraft

Was out running & hiking the other day, and headed to my favorite spot, up at the top of Rampart Range.  It’s sorta my ‘God Spot.’  A place where I’m inspired by His glory & beauty; where He always seems to speak to me in some way.

And God really showed off. 

It was kinda hot & sunny, and typical for this dry Colorado climate, the flies were out to get me with a vengeance.  We don’t have mosquitoes, or roaches, or much of any other critter, but lots & lots of big, slow, irritating, biting flies.  They gravitate toward moisture, so a human body on top of Rampart Range is like an oasis.  Needless to say, the flies were on my last nerve.  Irritating.  Distracting.

Then from my left side came the undeniable ‘caw’ of a red-tailed hawk.  They’re kinda common to the area, but still it’s rare to hear or see one that close.  Sure enough, up from the cleft in the mountain range flapped a glorious, bright, red-tailed hawk. 

I turned, intrigued, slapping at the flies on my legs, squinting up into a flawlessly blue sky.  And then amazingly, another hawk arose just behind, a bit more muted, probably the mate.  As I stomped around in the knee-high grass, waving my arms in a constant dance of fly-swatting, I was gifted with a low, swooping fly-by.  All the while, they cawed out, first one then the other, raising their worship call to echo back from the looming face of Pikes Peak. 

At this point the flies were outright making me furious.  Felt like God had this incredible gift for me, and the devil was sending attack-of-the-biting-flies to distract me from it!  So I start going all exorcist-ballistic, yelling out loud, “in the name of Jesus, get away from me!” – swinging & swatting everywhere – all the while, keeping my eyes glued to these two hawks, just overhead. 

And then the hawk couple stopped flapping, and began this slow, sweeping circle above me. Honestly, I don’t really think my exorcist-freaking-out-yell sent the flies away...but I became so transfixed with the show God was putting on for me that I simply forgot about the distraction. 

I cannot adequately put into words what it was like.  These hawks circled upward, with never a flap of wing, occasionally calling out to one another, for minute upon minute.  What started out just overhead was soon high above me, a spiraling, soaring dance; two love-birds sweeping toward the azure-blue heavens, in the effortless pattern of their creator.

Minute after minute, slowly sweeping to the northeast, higher & higher.  And for what?  They weren’t hunting, they weren’t even scoping out prey – they were much too high.  I couldn’t tear my eyes away, even as they became little more than specks, circling, circling, winding closer & closer to the sun.  And still, their piercing song would echo down to me, when it seemed they couldn’t possibly go any higher, when I wondered how my ears could hear the haunting cry. 

I had gradually turned three-quarters of the way around now, following their spiral path, and it seemed they were flying right into the sun.  My head craned back, and I squinted, squinted, not wanting to lose sight of their effortless flight...yet it was too bright, too blinding...  Reflexive tears streamed down my face as I blinked & strained to keep them in sight. 

But they were gone, and it was too bright; I couldn’t even hold my eyes open any longer.  And suddenly the light-responsive, instinctive tears gave way to sobbing & sobbing, “O God, O God!  What?  What, Lord?  Why such beauty?  Lord, why?”  I was oblivious to the flies now, kneeling in the grass, crying out to the Creator, awestruck at having been witness to such a display of splendor. 

And I felt His Spirit speak to me...

For naught but beauty;
                            for inspiration;
                                        that you might see what splendor there is to be had in My Updraft.”
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As a mommy, I spend so much time working & worrying, ‘flapping’ & searching & fretting – always busy with tasks of the day.  And I'm tired.  Rarely do I stop my manic motion, to simply rest in God’s presence.  No, not completing my small-group Bible study, or checking off my daily devotion...but simply resting.

Why is it so hard to just be still and be quiet, and experience His Updraft?

O God, do I really believe the only way I can stay aloft is by my own power, my own frantic efforts?  That's what I'm doing, aren't I?  Living like its all up to me?  Flapping my wings unto exhaustion, but never coming close to the heights You have for me...

The voice of the enemy plagues me, biting at me, buzzing in my ears: “get busy! do more! work, work, work! you'll never get it all done!”  On a good day I swat away the irritating, distracting stings of guilt.  On bad days, I find myself covered with guilt, like flies biting away at me, feasting on my manic chaos of busyness, distracting me from even a glimpse of God’s goodness.

I’m hopeful that someday, with enough exorcist-ballistic freaking-out, “in the name of Jesus, get away from me!” – those voices of guilt will diminish.  And perhaps God was showing me that another part of the process is to stop fretting, to be still, so that I might someday learn what it is to simply

be in His presence,

to soar in His glory,

to climb & spiral & dance,

maybe all the way into the sun,

In His Updraft.
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"And why do you worry about necessities? See how the lilies of the field grow. They do not labor or spin. Yet I tell you that not even Solomon in all his splendor was dressed like one of these. If that is how God clothes the grass of the field, which is here today and tomorrow is thrown into the fire, will he not much more care for you, O you of little faith?”  (Matthew 6:28-30)

"...those who hope in the Lord will renew their strength. They will soar..."  (Isaiah 40:31)

Counting The Cost

(Part 5 of a 5-blog series; click here for more: part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4)

Today was my second attempt on the new trail.  This time I was determined to go further, explore the entire course, take it to...well, where-ever it went.

Nekoda had already nursed, he & Serene & the boys were happily hanging out with the big kids, lunch dishes were cleaned up, and I had no pressing responsibilities for the afternoon.  (did I really just type that?  wow.)  I would even have time for a peaceful shower before having my arms full of babies again.

So I headed out, invigorated, excited, jogging on the now familiar path, toward the lesser-known section.
I picked my way across the narrow-ledge, washed-out switchbacks, coming to forks in the trail where I had to randomly decide: right & up, or down & left?  After each intersection I would stop & glance back, looking briefly at the trail from that perspective, so as to know how to make my way home.  To be honest, I’m not exactly great with directions.  Okay, I’m severely directionally-challenged.  Which contributes to my fear of taking off on barely-marked trails into national forest.

I was intent on taking the trail to some ending destination, assuming it would terminate somewhere down in Woodland Park.  So at each fork in the trail I took the downward slope, feeling energized, fast, & maintaining a steady jog.  The further down I went, the broader & more obviously traversed the path became.  Before too long I began to see rooftops, glimpses of asphalt road, a neighborhood water tank...and suddenly, there was an opening in the trees, and the wide open space of a cul-de-sac.

With a wide grin of satisfaction I decided I must’ve ended up behind a neighborhood on the north side of town, not too far down from Kevin’s office.  I tried to catch my breath, stood for a bit recovering, and savored the glorious afternoon.   What a gorgeous day!  What a place to call home!  Who am I, Lord?  Look at where we live!

A quick glance at my watch told me it had taken only 15 minutes to descend this course, so after another 5 minutes or so of praying, praising & relishing the beautiful CO day, I leisurely headed back up the path. 

UP being the key word here.  Within three minutes any false pretensions I had about my fitness were laboriously quelled.  Any attempt at a jog petered out within a few strides.  It was all I could do to lumber up the steep, sandy trail at a slow hike.  I pressed my palms flat on my quads with each lift of my leg, already feeling the burn after traversing only a few hundred yards.  I had to stop & breath every few minutes, and even so, ended up with the rasping cough of lung burn by the time I got to the first of the trail intersections.  I stood there, gasping, thighs & rear & calves aching, head swimming...
which way did I come from? 
I know it should head upwards, but both ways seemed to ascend?
And had I turned left or right at that little berm? 

I think you get the picture.  The bottom line is that I gave little thought to the steep trail while embarking on my new adventure. 
My quest began with excitement & speed & joy...
but I disregarded the most important part: how to get home.

While I had taken only 15 minutes to descend the steep trail, I now had to suffer through 45 minutes of precipitous climbing to finally have our rock-lined home-trail in sight.   Gone was my peaceful margin of time for a relaxing shower before little ones would need me.  And instead of feeling invigorated by my outing, I was utterly exhausted, sore, cranky, and wheezing from the unaccounted-for overexertion. 

As I rounded the corner of our Aspen-log sandbox & headed down to the house, I realized that this little episode paralleled so many of the ventures in my life.  Heading out with a vague goal in mind, excited, invigorated, hopeful...only to realize at the halfway point that I had not counted the cost of finding my way home...
and the way home was long.
 
Longer than I expected.

So wearying that it obscured the joy of the journey. 

Oh, that I will learn!  Learn to count the cost, to figure in the steep, arduous parts of the path, on this road-less-traveled.  Have you too, found yourself out at the far end of your journey, forgetting to count the cost of your adventures?

(Part 5 of a 5-blog series; click here for more: part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4)

Getting Braver

(Part 4 of a 5-blog series; click here for more: part 1, part 2, part 3, part 5)

Isn’t it funny how quickly we get used to some new path or new experience in life?  That new baby arrives & we are just giddy with excitement, carefully cradling the tiny, fragile head, delicately diapering the soft, pink bottom, and swooning over every little whimper.  Two weeks later, we’re nonchalantly slapping a diaper on his stinky butt, pulling onesies over his spituppy face, and while still swooning over his peacefully sleeping form, we’re also wishing we could flush him down the toilet when he squalls at all hours of the night.

The newness wears off.  The adrenaline rush subsides.  The once-scary process becomes second nature.

I’ve gotten used to my adventurous trail hike.  It doesn’t seem scary at all anymore.  What once felt like a long, arduous, risky path – now feels well-worn, fast & familiar, and easy to navigate.

So I ventured a new trail. 

I headed out the same old way; along the electric-line easement, left into the woods, up the ridge into national forest.  But where the path meanders thru a sunny Aspen stand & our familiar granite stone marks the left turn...I randomly decided to go straight.  I had some time; Kevin was still home with the kids, little ones were napping, Nekoda wasn’t due to nurse for another hour or so.

This trail wound down the side of Rampart Range, towards Woodland Park, and alternated between cool wooded areas & sun-streamed vistas.  The day was gorgeous, and I relished the screen-saver views & sound of high winds blowing thru the tops of pine & fir.  I realized after a few minutes that I had been this way once before with Kevin, over a year ago, not long after Serene was born, but before I was pregnant with Nekoda. 

Sections of the trail cut horizontally across the side of the wooded mountain, creating switchbacks to soften the steep grade, barely notched five or six inches wide into the crumbly decomposed-granite face.  And after a few days of intense afternoon rainstorms, these narrow paths are slippery & unstable, washed over with pine needles, pebbles, twigs.  Scary.  Risky.  Dangerous.

Okay, not really.  I’m sure Kevin would have run down them, sure-footed & swift, barely bothered by the skittering of granite rocks down the side of the mountain.  Plenty of hikers from town use this trail to head up into the national forest.  But for me, it was challenging, physically & mentally.  I slowed to a carefully hunkered-down walk, picking my way along the narrow passageway, keeping a steadying hand on the ascending face. 

For me, this was courage.  Just to continue forward, on the washed-out trail, unclear about where it was heading. 
I’m getting braver.

(Part 4 of a 5-blog series; click here for more: part 1, part 2, part 3, part 5)

Markers

(Part 3 of a 5-blog series; click here for more: part 1, part 2,  part 4, part 5)

Out walking & running again this morn, and was inexorably drawn off the main road, towards the trail that our family takes from the back of our property.  Only problem was, the prompting came when I was already out at the far end of the journey:  the peak up ahead, Rampart Range Rd under my feet, ‘the bald’ overlooking Woodland Park to my right.  I wasn’t really sure where that path was, or how to connect with it, from my current position.  To top it off, time was running short, and baby Nekoda was home with the older kids, due to nurse in another 15 or 20 minutes.

Enter fear.  But never-the-less, there was the incessant prompting to get off the easy road, fight my apprehension, and find the trail.  So I prayed, looked both ways, and ducked under the fence. 

The view up there is glorious.  The best.  Deep blue sky; that rare, azure, clarified color you only find up here above 9000 feet.  Wildflowers everywhere, washes of yellow & purple, with shocks of red sprinkled across the field.  Tall, fragrant, deep-green Pines, and cheerful Aspens, shimmering & applauding in the breeze. Towering over it all, the majestic face of Pikes Peak, still streaked with valleys of snow.

I jogged quickly across the wheat-colored field, not sure where fence lines marked private property or national forest, and headed over the swell of land until the road behind me dropped from view.  Yet I was disoriented.  My heart raced, more than just from the brief exertion, as I continued toward a line of trees, slowly descending the hill that eventually falls sharply to the edge of Woodland Park.  Where was the trail?  Where was the opening between Aspens I remembered emerging from, on hikes with Kevin & the kids?  Everything looked so different from this angle.  I stopped for a moment & strained to look back towards the dirt road:  maybe this was a bad idea, maybe I was in the wrong place altogether, maybe I should go back to the familiar, well-traveled street.

But I couldn’t shake the conviction that I was supposed to forge ahead & find my way.  I mean, its not like I was lost.  I was just...insecure.  And frustrated with my insecurity.  “Lord, help me!  This is just silly, but I can’t find the path, and I don’t know where I’m supposed to turn into the woods...and I need to get home!”

And then – there it was.  The silly, funny marker Kevin had left to show the way: an old sock, tied to a tree branch, stiff from months of weathering in the snow & rain & sunshine.  I laughed aloud then, and cried a little, and raced off down the barely-marked but somewhat-familiar trail.  All along the way were subtle signs of Kevin’s making: a tree branch here to mark an edge, a stone there to mark a turn. 

Signs of Jesus’ tender love for me, thru my pioneering husband. 
Markers that remind me of God’s call on my life,
to take the road-less-traveled with courage to overcome my fears;
and to trust, because
He has gone before me and marked the way with compassion & lovingkindness.

(Part 3 of a 5-blog series; click here for more: part 1, part 2,  part 4, part 5)

Getting Off The Main Road

(Part 1 of a 5-blog series; click here for more: part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5)

I’ve started working out again - more than just the sporadic core-strength intervals I’ve done in the past weeks.  I’m four & a half months postpartum after our 7^th baby, and so it’s a minor triumph that I’ve finally laced up my old running shoes & hit the road.  I doubt that my body parts will ever fully recover from being pregnant with, giving birth to, & nursing our 7 children...but I’m trying.  And to be honest, the half hour of walking & brief attempts at running is more about talking with God than getting my body back anyway.

It’s mid-June in the Rockies, so the weather is perfect: sunny, breezy, azure blue skies, and a crisp 65-75 degrees that beckons everyone outdoors.  Feels like everyone in the state is heading to the National Forest behind our property.  The brown road that leads away from our small rural subdivision is fairly smooth & well-traveled at this time of year, but not paved, and I quickly grew weary of breathing in the road dust kicked up by the SUV’s & trailers, trucks & motor homes.  I trudged on, knowing that the spectacular view just around the bend would be my reward.

I like to think that I meet God out there, that I hear His voice in the wind blowing across the open fields, breathe in His glory ricocheting between the majestic face of Pikes Peak & the faraway symmetrical beauty of the Collegiates.  But today I was irritated by the interruption of summertime travelers and vacationers, on Rampart Range Road.

I headed back, thinking I might turn off at the old forest-service road that leads to a path toward the back of our property.  But as always, apprehensive thoughts filled my mind:  what if I encountered that brown bear we’d seen hanging around, what if I turned my bad ankle on the rough trail, what if I didn’t recognize my way...?  Another truck roared past me, the boat trailer behind it leaving a wake of sand & dust for me to choke on.  That did it.

Finally off the sandy road, I found that my footing seemed a bit more secure, the canopy of Pines & Aspens provided a welcome relief from the intense high-altitude sun.  Yellow & purple wildflowers were everywhere, brushing my legs, mingled with the high, green & brown grass.  The rich, extravagant smell of hot pine needles filled my soul.  I picked my way over the rough trail & started talking with God.  No, I didn’t hear His audible voice, but it’s just this sorta out-loud prayer thing I do, where I’m praying to Him...but also trying to open my soul & mind to His leading & speaking, so that the words He wants me to hear will come from Him, outta my mouth.  Does that make sense?  Maybe not so much...

But anyway, I was kinda talking with God, and praying for His guidance, presence, that sort of thing.  Prayed that Jesus would be so present in our home, in my marriage.  Prayed that Jesus would give me courage to take this rough path, to help me navigate the way home, despite my insecurity & apprehension.  And then I felt like He started kinda talking back to me - y’know, through my own praying.

And I felt like He put these praying words in my mouth:  “Lord, help me to have the courage to get off the busy road, to leave the common way, to dare a journey that so few traverse; give me strength & perseverance to take this rougher path, this road-less-traveled.”  And then the real revelation came: “Jesus, help me to take this trail, ...that...Kevin...already...forged...”  Oh.

I am pulled toward the uncommon path, but I’m afraid.  It seems...I don’t know...dangerous, risky, rough, dirty.  The road is just – easier.  Easier to navigate.  Easier to find my way; the way everyone else is going, the way that some government highway department created.  But the road-less-traveled is so intriguing, so inspiring, so worshipful, so risky.  And my husband went ahead for me, and forged a path.  He has led our family, many a time, up the hill to the National Forest, thru the wooded valley, out onto the spacious, open bald atop Rampart Range.  We’ve even marked spots along the trail; a boulder here to mark the left turn, a trail of rocks that margin the turnoff for our property.  And still I’ve been afraid?

And so I begin to see.  Maybe, just a bit of clarity.  That God is leading me, ever pulling me towards an uncommon path, a journey that will be rougher, riskier, scary, but resplendent with His reward.  And I don’t have to navigate it alone.  He has called my husband to go before me; he has led Kevin to forge the path, to guide the children and me, into a place of beauty & adventure & faithwalking.  On the road less traveled.

(Part 1 of a 5-blog series; click here for more: part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5)