The Road Less Traveled

There is a lot of comfort in staying between the lane lines, of knowing exactly where the road is headed, and of being able to follow along with GPS directions.  When snow covers the road, removing even glimpses of those guiding dashed white lines, I find myself longing for the comfort of the known, the ease of seeing instead of guessing and hoping I stay on my part of the road and the other drivers stick to theirs. Main highways offer security--marked exits, warning about upcoming roads, and information about distances to nearing cities.  Less traveled gravel roads don't come with any guarantees.  Without a map, there's no way to know what roads might intersect until you happen upon them.  No way of knowing what towns lie ahead.  I'm not likely to turn off a main highway in favor of a gravel road heading off into the distance. 


I can remember back a number of years to an opporunity to share with my home church about living in Romania and I quoted Robert Frost's famous poem:
     Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—

     I took the one less traveled by,
     And that has made all the difference.
Certainly taking the road less traveled makes all the difference. It's often not well-paved or lit.  No one has bothered to paint lane lines.  There might be long stretches when you don't pass others.  And yet, in the journey of taking the road less traveled, we learn to walk by faith instead of by sight. We learn to trust that God knows where the road is leading and instead of needing to be in control we can surrender.  We begin to cherish the people God brings into our lives--those who walk beside us for long stretches and those whose lives just briefly intersect ours.  The road less traveled might be bumpy and dusty, leaving us weary and worn.  God faithfully provides rest stops along the way, bringing healing and restoration to our souls.  It's scary and there's part of me that longs for the ease of the road well-traveled...but I don't think there's anything that could convince me to turn back now.

Killing Mosquitos

When they first start to show up I have such a vengeance for destroying them.  I want to ensure they are nowhere near my body, have no chance to take anything of mine.  Slowly, they wear me down.  Instead of seeking to obliterate their lives I somehow get to the point of being ok living with their presence in my life.  Instead of turning on the light and hunting every last mosquito down, I pull the sheet over my head and resign myself to hearing the incessant buzz until I blissfully fall asleep.  Last night I sat outside and the mosquitos showed up.  I noticed them around my face and dealt a number deathly blows to those settling on my legs and arms. It was only once I stood up that I realized my flip-flop clad feet had been attacked. Some bright mosquitos had searched out the easiest place to attack and had survived without even my awareness of what was happening.

I've been reminded recently of the battle raging, of the enemy prowling around to attack.  It's easy to identify a lion roaring toward you and certainly a lion's attack won't go unnoticed. Mosquitos can sneak under the radar and attack--perhaps not a deadly blow but certainly a blow that takes energy away from what could be, that causes us to spend time itching and swatting instead of living. While a lion's attack might be a traumatic event, the mosquito comes quietly whispering lies and subtly backing up those lies with a series of events that don't seem all that bad initially.  The cumulative effect is devastation.  No doubt about it, the enemy is alive and well and is using any means available to attack us.  Last night I was intent on killing the mosquitos around me.  I pray for eyes and a heart that enable me to kill the whispers of the enemy as well, to stand and continue to protect against the roaring lion as well as the buzzing mosquitos.  I'm so thankful that God hasn't given me that job alone.  Not only is he with me in the battle, I have a wonderful community around me that is supporting me in it as well.