Follow Me
As I was walking, the roads split, and this one was paved, with flowers all around, and far more beautiful than the others.
And I thought, "Yea, Jesus, this one." "This one is easier to walk on. This one is more beautiful. I can see you better here. This one is far more "me," the "me" you created me to be." And then I had this overwhelming sense that I was alone. Walking on this beautiful road that was simpler and felt more like "me," yet He was no longer there.
He had taken the other road. That was the way He was going. And I told Him I wanted to follow, but when the road became sparse, and empty and ugly, with no hope for anything different up ahead; when all I could see was dirt and rocks and the other roads were paved and beautiful; when slowly but surely, one by one, my friends and family took off down other roads; or when I climbed into the driver's seat of my Tundra and drove away from the one I loved, as the tears poured down my face; when I saw EVERYTHING else I loved go a different way, I wondered if I still wanted to follow. And I did, and I cried and I questioned every step of the way. I looked around and I was alone, in a place unfamiliar to me that I didn't recognize. I sat on the back of my truck in the desert, and everyone else was gone, but He was there.
Because all He asked me to do was follow. He didn't tell me He would give me answers or help me to understand. He didn't tell me that He would bring people along that I loved. He only said that He loved me, that He would never leave me, and then He gave me the opportunity to follow Him.
That other path would have been beautiful, and far more simple, and probably far more "me." But it would have been without Him. Because that wasn't the way He was going, and that wasn't the way He asked me to go either. And I wouldn't know all of the things about "me" that I've learned now. Or what I was capable of, or who I could be.
But I still feel myself, every second, looking down other roads as we walk by. Ones that look hopeful, or greener, more exciting, or more "me." Ones that my friends are on that I want to follow. And I look at the dirt road that He and I are walking that seems to have no change up ahead; no hope of flowers or new life to come, and I question and I drag my feet and I slow down to look a little longer down the other roads, just to make sure I don't want to walk away. And then like a little kid, I run and catch back up to my father and ask Him where we're going, and He grabs my hand, and says, "Follow Me."
And I thought, "Yea, Jesus, this one." "This one is easier to walk on. This one is more beautiful. I can see you better here. This one is far more "me," the "me" you created me to be." And then I had this overwhelming sense that I was alone. Walking on this beautiful road that was simpler and felt more like "me," yet He was no longer there.
He had taken the other road. That was the way He was going. And I told Him I wanted to follow, but when the road became sparse, and empty and ugly, with no hope for anything different up ahead; when all I could see was dirt and rocks and the other roads were paved and beautiful; when slowly but surely, one by one, my friends and family took off down other roads; or when I climbed into the driver's seat of my Tundra and drove away from the one I loved, as the tears poured down my face; when I saw EVERYTHING else I loved go a different way, I wondered if I still wanted to follow. And I did, and I cried and I questioned every step of the way. I looked around and I was alone, in a place unfamiliar to me that I didn't recognize. I sat on the back of my truck in the desert, and everyone else was gone, but He was there.
Because all He asked me to do was follow. He didn't tell me He would give me answers or help me to understand. He didn't tell me that He would bring people along that I loved. He only said that He loved me, that He would never leave me, and then He gave me the opportunity to follow Him.
That other path would have been beautiful, and far more simple, and probably far more "me." But it would have been without Him. Because that wasn't the way He was going, and that wasn't the way He asked me to go either. And I wouldn't know all of the things about "me" that I've learned now. Or what I was capable of, or who I could be.
But I still feel myself, every second, looking down other roads as we walk by. Ones that look hopeful, or greener, more exciting, or more "me." Ones that my friends are on that I want to follow. And I look at the dirt road that He and I are walking that seems to have no change up ahead; no hope of flowers or new life to come, and I question and I drag my feet and I slow down to look a little longer down the other roads, just to make sure I don't want to walk away. And then like a little kid, I run and catch back up to my father and ask Him where we're going, and He grabs my hand, and says, "Follow Me."
Comments
Be willing to follow wherever I lead. Follow Me wholeheartedly, with glad anticipation quickening your pace. Though you don't know what lies ahead, I know; and that is enough! Some of My richest blessings are just around the bend: out of sight, but nonetheless very real. To receive these gifts, you must walk by faith--not by sight. This doesn't mean closing your eyes to what is all around you. It means subordinating the visible world to the invisible Shepherd of your soul.
Sometimes I lead you up a high mountain with only My hand to support you. The higher you climb, the more spectacular the view becomes; also, the more keenly you sense your separation from the world with all its problems. This frees you to experience exuberantly the joyous reality of My Presence. Give yourself fully to these Glory-moments, awash in dazzling Light. I will eventually lead you down the mountain, back into community with others. Let My Light continue to shine within you as you walk among people again.
Seriously though Britt, your words are incredibly expressive and full of emotion, and your ability to illuminate your journey for us to take part in is incredibly inspirational. I love your heart! - Janine