A Poem: The Road

I was afraid
that the road was too narrow.
That myself and my load
could not together pass.

Then I was afraid
it might in fact be too wide.
That I would turn in circles
and miss the landmarks.

I was afraid
it might at times give out.
That what I believed was a road
was instead a track to naught.

I was afraid to walk.
Afraid to point others
to this road or that,
as right.

Had I not thought that roads
were a path to follow?
That they needed strict observance
to a map.

But then in relief
I felt my heart held ,
in hands that were
both loose and tight.

My gracious guide
revealed the road was not
a maze that we must in earnest

It is a way of life.
A relaxing into arms that bear us up.
Where-ever the road takes me,
He is at my feet and side.

Ana Lisa de Jong
August 2018

Image:  Monet, Path to Path at Pourville, 1882.

“For I will bring them from the north
and from earth’s farthest ends,
not forgetting their blind and lame,
young mothers with their little ones,
those ready to give birth.
It will be a great company who comes.
Tears of joy shall stream down their faces,
and I will lead them home with great care.
They shall walk beside the quiet streams and not stumble.
For I am a Father to Israel.”
Jeremiah 31:8-9

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