Sometimes when I have to drive somewhere,
and have someone else with me.
I rely on their direction;
or sensing the way for myself;
particularly when I have traveled the road a few times before,
but not quite enough to be certain.
When I am alone,
when the passengers aren’t there,
I tend to actually know the way.
And I wonder why that is.
It’s not that at this point I could verbalize clear directions,
my nose tends to know
where it’s headed,
even when the language to direct it
The language is lacking,
but the knowing,
How little we trust ourselves,
or how little faith we have,
in the way our story is unfolding,
and its future;
Or perhaps the way we might be experiencing it,
at any given moment.
maybe there’s nothing wrong.
The passengers were never meant to
disable our ability to drive the journey,
but rather, to accompany it.
We just have to let it be so.
It is our hands on the wheel, after all.
Maybe that’s life.
Maybe we don’t trust ourselves, or perhaps,
even more so,
Maybe we look to the left and right,
to the lives around us too often,
as an indicator for our direction,
and as to how we should be feeling about it.
When all along,
the wonder that dwells within
before the words are spoken,
before the picture is painted,
before language is layered over,
that what is experienced and known below,
and it is worth paying attention to,
each story is valuable.
in its difference.
Maybe we need to deepen our trust,
in our story
and our experience of it,
to be able to meet God and others in it;
and to begin to value,
the different colours
of the stories and journeys unfolding around us.
..just a thought.