The Melting of Roads

The Road Not Taken by Robert Frost is probably one of the most quoted and well known poems in all American Poetry. Most of us can echo the emotions of Frost, especially in the first and last stanzas.

"Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,

And sorry I could not travel both

And be one traveler, long I stood

And looked down one as far as I could

To where it bent in the undergrowth;"

We know the feeling of looking at 2 (or more) paths and being sorry that we could not travel both. Or maybe we are intimidated by all the options in front of us. In either case we know a decision must be made. And even if we do not choose, we are walking the same path we were on when we approached the crossroads It is usually in these moments that we look forward to the last stanza. 

"I shall be telling this with a sigh

Somewhere ages and ages hence:

Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—

I took the one less traveled by,

And that has made all the difference."

I know that for me, I want to be able to look back in those moments of choice and sigh as I tell share my memories. The memories of taking the road that has made all the difference. 

As much as we long for these moments, my experience has been that life is not usually like this. Not in the way it begins or in those moments of reflection. That is not to say that our life is not idyllic. I have actually found the opposite to be true. But rather than the picturesque setting of a Thomas Kinkade painting, I find the paths of my life to be more similar to those found in Wackyland from Tiny Toons. There seems to be a consistent strand of God's faithfulness in my life but the paths are not set up as Frost describes. Rather I often feel like I am running through Minos' labyrinth with the Minotaur of life chasing after me. But that is not fully true, that is just my perception and what I feel. It feels like I am in a labyrinth running in circles with all that is contained in life and death always at my heels. Those moments fade.

Recently I have realized that  my road..... my roads..... our roads melt together. One season blending and building into another. Callings and desires from God colliding into glorious explosions of hope, excitement, and weighted glory. Sometimes these explosions are brief and just what we need to see past our cynicism, woundings , and hesitation. We may think there are just paths in front of us but God is more imaginative and too alive to just present paths to us. No we are being weaved together. Called and united for something much grander than choosing this or that, left or right.

Honestly as I have experienced this over the past few weeks, I have found it disorienting. But in this process I have been reinvigorated. It was as if there were another new frontier to explore. A new plan to be carved out and a new dream to chase. But as Christians we know that everything seems to carry a weight, a heaviness with it (at least until the redemption and reconciliation of all things). Our life changes and shifts; our excitement in the new is bound up in goodbyes, unsettlings, and new sacrifices. But together we can carry these things.

So as I venture forward into what seems to be a calling that was tucked behind layers of life and experiences, one that has been a part of me since birth yet is just now being revealed,  I will do so with both excitement and hesitation. Not hesitation out of a lack of faith or trust. Rather this hesitation is bound up in living this season fully even as the next season presses in upon it. This hesitation is wrapped up with the changes that seem to be coming and the ways that each of us affect one another. But together we can carry these things. 

The Dust We Left

The holes in the door were filled with spider webs and insect eggs. As I approached, the doors grew in stature. Splinters fell to my feet as I moved into the open barren sanctuary. Dust covered every surface, even the light coming through the stain glass windows felt muted. I walked down the aisle, looking down every empty pew. The high vaulted ceiling begged for voices to be raised. In response I began to sing, My inner man heard the choir’s voices being lifted and the organ beckoning the angels to praise our creator. I continued to walk among the pews and dust but as I drew closer to the alter even my once vigorous singing became muted, mirroring the dust on the bibles, pews, windows, and alter. Nothing is more frightening then an abandoned alter and more intimidating then the unused elements sitting complacently upon it.

“In Remembrance of me”

“In Remembrance of me”

“In Remembrance of me”

My eyes and my body drawn to these words etched into the table near the alter, I get on my knees and stare directly at them as if they wish to whisper something to me. I nearly jump to my feet as the jar of anointing oil falls over and spills onto the table. The stream of liquid slides down the surface and leaks off of the letters of the word “me.” From the moment I saw the rotted doors, my heart had been asking where were you? Just as the bread, and the wine, and the oil, and the bibles had been here, He had been here. We were the ones who left this place, not Him. 

Count, Note, Tour, and Share

Psalm 48:12-14

Go around Zion, encircle it;
count its towers, note its ramparts;
tour its citadels so that you can tell a future generation:
"This God, our God forever and ever- He will always lead us."


All of us have probably seen a movie, tv show, or commercial that contains a scene in which someone in sitting in a car with their eyes pointed upwards towards the tall buildings around them. During this scene there is typically some form of instrumental music playing while the city passes by and the scene fades in and out of focus. This is the picture I see when I read this verse. But this is not the full concept that is presented in Psalm 48. The commands in this song are not just to tour the city. Instead there are instructions to count, note, observe (an obvious part of touring), and then to share. This hopeful form of observation of the world around us that leads to a sharing of hope in God is both comforting and convicting. I see a way in which one can see the world around us and be convicted into having their eyes opened to God's leading. But I can also see a way in which one should be convicted by the ruin of a city. How might one mourn the broken towers, the crumbled citadels? How can you look at a desolate place and still say that God will always lead us? There is a place where we should be convicted by our own lack of effort towards restoration. But even in this conviction there is hope. The last statement in this Psalm shows a God who is past, present, and future. The phrase "this God" shows God in the present. The phrasing of "forever and ever" shows the reaching existence of God that has always been and will always be. But there is also a nearness to God expressed in this song. God is "this" God, "our" God. All of these aspects, from the picture of touring around a city to the foundational statements about God and our relationship to Him, are the reason why I chose to title this blog Touring Citadels. The hope that is presented as well as our participation in observing and noting and then sharing are all things that resonate deep within me. I want to be a person that counts towers, notes ramparts, tours the citadels for the reason of being able to tell coming generation that God is our God, He is forever, and He will always lead us.