Fix my feet on the path ahead of me. I cannot see far ahead, but teach me to walk, and trust, regardless. Let me be rooted in the hope that is present, but crowded by life.
Life is a path that turns and twists up and down. Most of the time, we cannot see too far ahead of ourselves. Even when we can, some times what we think we can expect, is not what happens. Over the weekend, I backpacked through part of the Ozarks by myself. I slept on a mountain under the stars. Not in recent memory have I felt such peace and hope. It existed strongly in that moment, strong enough to perpetuate and set itself more securely in the context of my life going forward. In the darkness of night, I did not feel alone. I felt life all around me. My thoughts were able to stretch out as all I had was night and the next day mostly in silence. It was great for me.
My life gets jumbled a lot easier and quicker than before. When life made sense, everything in my world made sense, for the most part. The little that didn’t make sense, was shrugged off because my life as a whole did. I had no real reason to wonder what was too far ahead of me. Everything that mattered, all that I loved, was happening where I was presently on the path. Then life unexpectedly turned and twisted tragically.
In the past year since Marianne died, the path has felt crowded and lonely. Life has continued as it always does. The path always remains ahead of us no matter how small or distant or hopeless it looks. One thing I have come to know about tragedy is that it gives reason for you to look and focus on yourself, on the pain and the wrong and the difficulty of life afterward. As I hiked through the mountainous terrain in the Ozarks, I noticed that at the most difficult spots when I was forever going up to a higher elevation and my legs were burning with each step forward, weighed down additionally by the gear I was carrying, my focus was on each strenuous step. I forgot about the path. All I was looking at was the small patches of earth that my feet were fighting forward on. The most difficult part was at the end, as the path peaked. I did not notice the end because I did not see it and forgot that I was getting closer to the peak. That is how I was traveling through this year past, looking at each strenuous and some times gut wrenching step. I was looking for life in each step rather than remembering that the path always leads somewhere.
In just a couple of weeks, we will be crossing a marker as a family...just me and the girls. This month is the anniversary of Marianne’s death, one year. Things are still not fully right in our lives, the path has been strenuous and difficult, but our lives are growing stronger and so much more hopeful. I am learning how to be the dad my girls need. They are still healing and learning life without her. The interesting thing is they are ready for what’s next. They ask me about it. They wonder about tomorrow and are waiting for the goodness that God will undeniably bring. It seems like a sure thing in their eyes. This is a sign of healing in their lives and hope in life tomorrow. My hope is rooted in God’s goodness leading us on the path we are on. My confidence is strengthened and found not in an idea of a life that would save me and in something that I need, but in the goodness of tomorrow and the sureness that God always leads somewhere. And that somewhere is good.
Though the path twists and turns and is strenuous and hard to see, God’s goodness becomes evident in each sunrise, in each innocent smile, in his redemptive ability to sprout life in the cracks of the path defined by difficulty.
This is gorgeous and raw. I'm not a parent and I've never lost a spouse so my understanding of your loss (as I've said before) is limited but I do understand loss in my own life, my own sense. I understand being lonely in a crowded room. I felt that for a long time. My family is approaching our fourth anniversary of Caryn's death... my sister who was taken the day after Christmas. We still have bad days, but the good days far over power the bad. We still feel ache, a gap that will never quite be filled but hope and happiness and smiles have returned to a home that was haunting to return to. Your children are an inspiration, their faith that you talk about in your blog posts is warming and amazing. Keep searching, keep sharing...
'...warming and amazing...' thank you!!