Two roads converged in a wood, and I...
Sat and pondered which one to take until the dry leaves rustled under my bent knees, wild grape vines twined around my calves, and silvery spider threads interlaced brown wisps of hair.
Well, maybe I had only wondered what to do for a couple months; in the grand scope of life that isn't all that long.
I felt like I was not accomplishing what I was supposed to this summer, not working hard enough, not seeing enough progress. Then again, sometimes my version of accomplishments isn't the only one. Just because my "To-do" list isn't all checked off doesn't mean that something positive hasn't happened. I have been able to help my family, though not always in the ways that I had planned. I have reconnected with them. And I have gotten to relax and slowly recuperate from the beating I gave my body over four years of lack of sleep.
God often has a different agenda, a different "list" than I do. I get so wrapped up in mine, I forget to look for His. When things don't go my way, I want to sit down and throw a hissy-fit, showing Him just how I feel about it. But at the end of it, I sheepishly look up at Him and feel foolish. I brush myself off, and stand "at attention," more willing to see things His way.
I wrote (most of) the above several weeks ago, before I went to Ecuador. At that time, life still seemed like a plain white sheet of paper, my pen poised above it wondering "what should be done with this?" (Yes, pens do wonder things like that. You'd be surprised at all the thoughts of inanimate objects). I feel pages and pages beyond that point now, as if I am a whole new person with whole new color ink flowing across the paper. Part of the change came while in Ecuador, my homeland (see previous post). I wrote this while traveling:
As we drove through Latacunga I had to blink back tears. I swallowed the knot in my throat and refused to cry. There were so many changes. New buildings sprung up right and left, roads had been added or reconstructed. And people went on about their daily lives. I did not cry because it had changed, but rather because I had not been there to witness it. I am no longer part of that life, I can no longer slip back into the rhythm of my hometown. Everything was so familiar, so dear to me. I liked living in Latacunga, I liked being able to walk nearly anywhere in town, or take a cab for only a dollar. All the guards I knew at the prison have left. We didn't even go into the prison, or even the church. We saw Wendy, her cute little restaurant, and her cozy apartment just up the street. But we did not see anyone else. Maybe on the way back through.
Though I miss Latacunga, I don't want to live there right now. I still want to be in Chicago. Not for my whole life, maybe not even for the next ten years. But for now. I thank God that he gives me the desire to do that which he has set before me.I feel more confidence and joy than I can remember feeling in a long time. It is as though I clearly hear my God saying, "This is the way, walk in it." And so I step out onto that path, onto the road less traveled, the one I least expected to take. The pen is no longer poised, motionless, but scribbling furiously as a cohesive pattern begins to emerge. And that step, that first stroke, will make all the difference.
