When you cannot see the way, walk like this

There is little morning light. Today, the sun is hidden from sight. A thick layer of fog has come in through night, obscuring the view.

Step, step, step.

In a quiet countryside, our shoes, they scuff upon the road. The sweet scent of ripening corn wafts along on the breeze, the dew sits heavy upon the arching leaves, and we talk as we walk along.

Step, step, step.

The mist. Up ahead, the road blurs into a blank, gray nothing. It’s impossible to see what lies ahead. All color but corn-green has disappeared. I can hear an approaching car, and at once it springs into view. I wave enthusiastically, hoping the driver can see us. I feel vulnerable in this misty shroud.

Step, step, step.

We reach the halfway point and turn around. The road ahead is inscrutable. I cannot see through that fog. I know what direction our home is in even though I cannot see the full path, the whole way. And so, we keep walking.

Step, step, step.

Passing by a farmhouse, I hear a cardinal’s call. Glancing over, I see him. On the tip-top twig of a tree, there he sits, singing his full-throated praise. His cheery, red color is muted; his form is vague, but his song–ah, now that is so clear. I know his voice.

At the intersection, we make a right. We are drawing very near to our home. The Cub, blue-eyed boy, is waiting.

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Dear friend. Just as my husband and I walked by faith and not by sight; just as we walked in full confidence and peace; and just as we arrived at last to our welcoming home, just so it should be with us all.

We need not be dismayed that the road up ahead is blurry. We don’t need to fear the “not knowing.” We can walk in full confidence, wrapped up in peace because we know and follow the Voice. Even here.

Then one day, heaven, our most welcoming, forever-and-ever home.

Step. Step. Step.