“Lord,” I say and then pause, not knowing what to ask, what to comment, where to go with this. I only know a longing to talk with him and to hear his guiding voice. I sit in silence and come to find myself seated with him in that small ledge up on the mountain where we last engaged.  Still looking at people passing on the well-marked trail below, I’m tempted to toss pebbles at them to get their attention, to disrupt their aimless, uneventful walk.

“You want to walk with them awhile?” the Lord asks.  “Let’s do that.”

Suddenly I find myself on the trail, walking in step with a handful of others.  “Good morning. Isn’t it a beautiful day?” I say in greeting to them.

“Good morning,” a few softly reply. Another grunts an acknowledgement and one more nods her head. Not a talkative bunch, I gather. I fall into line with their pace and walk in silence. Each is absorbed in her own thoughts, in her plans for when she will arrive at her destination. Me? I have no plans. I don’t even know where I’m walking to!

“What’s the story here, Lord?” I ask. “They’re like me, aren’t they?  Just trying to get to some other place, trying to create a plan —  a plan that can occupy their minds and give them a sense of purpose. Trying to feel worthy of the blood flowing through their bodies. Trying to appreciate the gift of life. Looking for answers to the questions they don’t know to ask.”

“Yes, they are. Just like you, they’ve walked a well laid out trail carved by others. Others – those who blazed new trails — did so in newness and in strength, in awareness and appreciation for their surroundings. They were conscious of the immediacy in which they traveled and embraced it. They observed nature and worked harmoniously with it to make the best path. They didn’t work against it, trying to force it into an idea of what they thought would be better. As they moved through the forests I whispered to them through the trees. I gave them direction. Boulders and stones created detours to guide them from one direction to another that could be traveled more safely. These sojourners were alive unto all creation. They were alive unto me and intently attuned to my voice. Their senses were sharp. Together we created the path, passing from destination to destination, growing and learning the process. Just as I do with you.

Those who follow on the trails made by others miss out on discovery. They look to bypass pain and unknowing. They want it all laid out, danger-free, risk-free. They want to be able to mindlessly walk along and to know exactly where the path will take them. Their senses grow weak for lack of use. They have invested nothing in the walk. They have nothing invested in their lives, really. They’re merely putting in their time and pushing on to tomorrow where they suppose something new will pop up and they will know they have arrived at their destination.

They lose sensitivity to my voice. They lose awe of creation. They don’t see its beauty nor appreciate that I have made it for them. They don’t see what I have made in them. They are not aware that I dwell in them, that we walk together where they walk. They do not know that we have already arrived, that our destiny is complete now.

They catch only brief glimpses of life’s reality. And when they do, they make a monument at that place of awareness so they can show it to the multitude of others who follow. They mark the place so they can save followers the ambiguity and the pain of forging their own routes. It is of a good heart that they desire to help others. Yet it is a misguided heart that does not take into account that others have the same spirit, the same creation, and me walking with them to carve their own, unique paths.”

“That’s why we left the path and you took me up the mountainside, Lord,” I quietly reflect with him. “You love me that much.”

We take a moment to sit on a boulder to the side of the road. I breathe deeply. Creation. It fills my senses – its gracious beauty, its gentle sound, the fresh fragrance I inhale. A wayward leaf blows across my lap, and I bring it to my lips to touch it and bring the last of my senses into the moment. I taste it. It is satisfying, beyond words of description.

I sit in silence with my Lord and the need to create a plan and a vision for the future fades.  I am complete now. Whether on this trail or clinging to the side of a mountain, I am content now. The taste of nature lingers with me. The taste of life, of love, of faith – is sufficient as I continue to journey over this benchmark from one year to the next.