Faith through the Fog

The evening drive was going as expected.  The night so clear, stars could be counted from windshield gaze.  Clear tar.  New tar, illuminating the broken orange lines.  Radio cushioning the silence of the open road.  Songs and the low soothing voice of the dj keeping company.  Up close, as if with cup of tea.  Comforted on this lonely night.  This lonely night with the highway man.

It came in clouds first.  Broken pieces as if cotton baton.  Cozying up to the high beams.  Passing through.  Ghost-like.  Song on the radio breaking now.  Searching for its spot.  Signals lost.  Faith in music fading.  Now, alone.  Silence, but for the hum of the engine, echoing in the night.  Fog.  Thick.  Heavy.  Blinding fog.   Settling in.  Enveloping me on my journey.

I wonder, have you been there, just now, on my highway?  Lost, but a half-mile down the road, unable to see around you.  Unaware of your company on the stretch just ahead.  Unwilling to wait for the daybreak, because, well because the air is too think, and the night, oh the night, just too long?

I’ve been there too, friend.  Stuck on the foggy nights.  By the side of the road.  Hands gripped so tightly around the wheel they begin blistering.  "Not more blisters", for skin is already so cracked and so raw, from the highway travels before.

And faith? So tiny, almost as translucent as the fog that slips through my wheels.  Or as the winter breath that escapes out my lips.  Here and then…well and then, somehow invisible.

What do you when your road becomes foggy? And you can no longer see the road mapped out ahead. The steps needed to take forward.  Or even, if you should instead stand starkly still.

Because its the faith that the fog will lift, which is the hardest of all.  Not knowing the timelines of when the clearing will come.  How far the struggle needs to be.  How long your endurance will take you. The squinting and the inching forward through the depth of the mystery.

But ahead, in a clearing, stands the roadside diner.  Travelling folk seek shelter here to wait for the fog to lift.  Stories are shared about the journey.  The fear and the difficulties and the decisions about when to pull over, and when to move forward.  Worries of what was coming ahead. And somehow in the sharing, over apple pie and day old coffee, the travellers trust that the fog will lift.  That they will get home. Hopes renewed.  Faith revived.

For those of us stuck on the side of the highway today, or for those of us with hands gripped tight inching forward ahead, may I suggest we pull over to that road side shelter?  The one with the light on.  The one where the travellers sit, waiting for the storm to pass, seeking comfort and shelter.  To find fresh encouragement, new found strength, and most importantly, to meet with the Man who will sit with us here.  The one who knows the roads, the weather conditions, and the endurance that we will need to journey on. For He always gives us shelter as He is our greatest Comforter. Even on the foggy days.

~He alone is my refuge, my place of safety; he is my God, and I am trusting Him~Psalm 91:2