My reading recently has revolved around journeys (The Unlikely Pilgrimage of Harold Fry which is a novel by Rachel Joyce, and God Unbound by Brian McLaren which charts his journey to the Galapagos and finding God in the wild), and in my pondering around the subject and reflecting on my own journey over the past year, I was reminded of a poem that I started to write in October 2022 at the point where I was considering changing job/career. I figured that it was time to finish it.
Sometimes our journey can be surprising; sometimes it can take us years to find the right path, but I believe that we have a guide who never gives up on us.
You mark the lines in the sand
define the boundaries
plan the approach
and lay out the path.
But stubbornly I choose another route,
and stumble.
You raise the signposts
draw the arrows
stand with outstretched arms
point to the road ahead.
But I view the hazy horizon,
and turn away.
Still you plot the course
set the bearing on my compass
write down directions
and give me the map.
But as the needle wavers,
I look elsewhere.
So you draw yet closer
hold the map
and my reluctant hand.
Chart our trajectory,
illuminate
and lead.
Until walking together,
I find the way.
