Clouds prowl across the earth in bands, shrouding light. The air thickens. Chill bumps prickle through the vegetation. Nature’s breath condenses and fog rolls across my path. In a storm’s shadow, my vision falters.
I strain my eyes to discern the next small step forward. Focus becomes a challenge when the horizon vanishes. The plunge in barometric pressure burdens my senses. The energy drains from my pores and vanishes into the eerie mist.
Lost. Wandering. Surviving one step at a time in no particular direction.
Metaphysical thunderheads mar my view of the path. My rare glimpse at the objective faded into memory. I can only see a few paces of roadway at best. Often, my feet disappear in a dense mist of temporal distractions.
Once upon a time, I sprang into life wearing a goal-oriented headlamp and type A hiking boots. I never asked for directions, and drew my own maps.
Then the storms came.
My batteries died. Maps don’t work when you can’t see the heavens. Hiking boots wear blisters into tender feet. Especially when you refuse directions.
I laid down my goal-orientation and type-A-ness, which had grown quite heavy. Meandering in the fog steamed the pride-wax out of my ears so I could better hear the directions.
Turns out, I didn’t need to see my way after all. The One Who Sees offered to direct my path. My maps would never have guided me to the best destinations, because I lacked divine perspective. God’s view outstretches my best line of sight. Only He beholds all things in perfect clarity.
I still can’t see where I’m going most of the time, but I can trust the One Who does. Vision must come from faith, and the spirit has no need to gawk at what’s ahead. The clear view is up.
“Now faith is confidence in what we hope for and assurance about what we do not see” (Hebrews 11:1).