I’ll tell you a secret: for a little while I’ve been standing at a crossroads. Stuck fast.
Big, hard-edged life choices have always been difficult for me, with my watery, soft-smudged way of seeing the world, and this season is no exception. The roads are diverging for me, and whichever way I choose has the potential to drastically change my future.
I don’t know, I find myself saying often.
I don’t know.
The other day I was scrolling through the photo library of my old IPhone 4S — the one that I used to start this little blog, once upon a time — and I stumbled on this photo:
Down on the greenway near Carilion, at a bend where the trail meets the river, there’s a spot where you can stand under the intersection of three bridges: the railroad trestle, the roadway, and the pedestrian bridge. I was always caught by the clean architectural beauty of those crisscrossing lines, and I’ve photographed them many times.
On the day when I took that picture, though, something was different: a solid beam of the most beautiful gold sun shot between the bridges, making a pathway of light on the water. I snapped picture after picture, transfixed.
And then I went home and promptly forgot about it.
But today, staring at that beam of light, I’m struck by the message I was sending to myself so many moons ago:
There is another road.
One not made by human hands: