Where the Sidewalk Ends

One of my favorite books as a child was written by Shel Silverstein, entitled, “Where the Sidewalk Ends”. It was my first hardcover novel, and at the age of 6 or 7, made me feel grown up.  Aside from the aesthetics of the hundreds of pages, and adult read feel, I was able to really understand his short stories and poems.  They were quirky, outside of the box, and humorous.  The simple illustrations were meaningful and engaging.  I treasured this book and among hundreds, it was the most memorable to me.  I soaked it in.

I was walking my dog this morning in my local neighbourhood at a time when the world was still sleeping.  These for me, are great times to talk to God. I find his presence more tangible and I’m afforded more breathing space to really unload the cares of the week.  Something about dawn offers a sense of fresh starts and new beginnings.  Slates are wiped clean. Hope again made new.  Not to mention the coffee…

But this morning I was greeted by a small, but poignant yellow sign on my journey.  Three feet ahead, curtained just slightly by a large Elm tree, stood, “Sidewalk Ends”.  My dog, coffee, and I, gently but intentionally side stepped to the road to continue ahead in our original direction.  I glanced over to my right to see grassy space covering what could have been the remainder of the path.  There was room for more sidewalk.  It felt unfinished and abrupt.  It seemed unnecessary. 

And I began thinking about our own sidewalk endings.  The ones that end unexpectedly.  Without forewarning.  Ones that seem unnecessary, where there is clearly more room for the path to continue.  Ones that force us on to a busy street.  Ones that interrupt our times with God, our sense of clarity.  Our sense of peace. Ones that don’t make sense on our walks.  Ones that steer us in a different direction.

I've got a handful of sidewalk endings.  I've responded in different ways to them.  At times, I've kept walking ahead, pretending and hoping that the sidewalk would magically appear.  Insisting that it would.  Not recharting my course.  Walking on grassy fields without a path.  Getting lost.  Other times, I've stared in disbelief at the sign.  Mourning and relenting the loss of the path.  Lying down prostrate telling passersby of the tragedy.  Spending wasted time trying to cement and plot out the same sidewalk in frustration and tears. 

And sometimes, I've learned to accept the sign as God's best plan for me.  I've briefly felt the upset, but looked back to God, trusting that it was no longer a safe direction to go.  That perhaps the sign is his gentle steering of me in a direction that will be more suitable and fitting for my life. 

Obedience to God's direction has been the single most difficult thing in my walk with Christ but I'm learning. I'm learning that sometimes the sidewalk endings are intentional and blessings in disguise used to move me down a path that will better allow me to flourish.  I'm learning that God has my best interest at heart, despite my tendencies to think otherwise.  What do you do with your sidewalk endings?