Walking Somewhere New

I have a certain walking path that I follow. It goes out of my house, up Mount Sylvan road, where there is no sidewalks and cars whiz by me, Texas drivers in a hurry to get from point A to point B. My walking path altars when I get to the park. Instead of walking around, I make my way through the park, meandering when I get to the playground shaded by the trees, stopping to swing on a swing or pick a flower from one of the trees just to smell it. When I have had my fill of childhood, and remember something important I need to go waste my time on, I leave the park and walk past a field surrounded by a white fence, followed by a row of identical houses, lined in like soldiers waiting for an order. Then I make my way back up another street, whose name I can never remember, around to the other side of my house.

This is the walking path I have chosen, the one I am familiar and comfortable with. I know the signs (well some of them) the trees that are taller or stand out, the flower gardens and unkempt yards. I am used to the large sign announcing the ironic name of the park I walk through- “Pool Park- donated by Maggie and Frank Pool” Yet there is no swimming pool to be found. (I wonder sometimes how many kids are disappointed in that) I know where the sidewalks end and the road gets dusty, where a good picnic table to stretch out on is, where the road gets a little more steep, and my breathes get shorter. I know this road that I walk.

Often times I get to a point in my life I just don’t know why I am going where I am going. I have this call of God on my life, this willingness to be some sort of a vessel, to advance the kingdom of God, but I so easily get caught up in routine to the point where it all seems meaningless. I found myself at this place this summer. I had just finished four years of “being in ministry.” I was emotionally exhausted, spiritually burnt out, frustrated and bitter. I needed a nap badly. I couldn’t find my joy, couldn’t see past the questions, the suppressing tiredness that had replaced the passion and vigor I started out with. Not to say I had lost my love for Jesus, I had just become so jaded by the system- so tired of feeling like everything in American Christianity was hyped up and hypocritical, everything seems so cliché and corny. I wanted to get away bad. So, I did what any normal human being would do, I tried to figure things out. I tried to find the answers, make sense of the hurt I had experienced, tried to sort out the bitterness to no avail. So I gave up.

I gave up and went for a walk, but this time, I walked down another path. I don’t really know what possessed me to do that, but something in me needed to break the routine. I walked down town, towards the small brick community of country folk with their antiques and odds and ends shops. I walked into one of them, drawn by something or someone. I entered a room, a beautiful jungle of dried flowers formed in artistic wreaths and arrangements. The name of the shop was Heaven on Earth. I began talking to the owner, and as soon as she started speaking, I knew Who had directed me into this shop. She spoke words of truth, of healing out of her own painful experiences and life lessons. I soaked it up like a dry sponge. When our conversation was through, I walked out, my eyes full of tears, but for the first time in a long time, my heart full of hope.

I have a certain walking path that I follow, but sometimes I need to give up and walk somewhere new.