This morning my reading app directed me to the beginning of Psalm 119 and I turned to the page in The Message bible, because the thought of this particular psalm, with its ridiculous length (I mean, can you imagine people singing their way through all those words? They’d be there forever) just seemed to require a lighter sort of reading.
And the psalm surprised me, as Truth so often does. It speaks of being blessed when we stay on course, walking steadily on the road revealed by God. I remember speaking to my close friend about her husband’s illness and the unpredictability of the future, and she said she was learning to live just one day at a time. As much as we would like it, we don’t seem to get issued with a map for this road we’re on. It just gets revealed to us as we walk.
“Here’s the route for today, my girl. Keep going in that direction and all will be well.”
So apparently, as we stay on course, as we keep walking steadily, we are blessed. Although this sounds too simple, and perhaps it is since the road is often far from obvious. The psalmist says, ‘I’m a stranger in these parts; give me clear directions.’
As I type that I find a muffled snort escapes unbidden. (‘Ah, Doubt, there you are.’) Clear directions? Can I really expect clear directions? What sort of directions would be clear enough to navigate this part of the journey? I feel like such a stranger to these parts and I want to know stuff, I want things to be clear. Spell it out, is my heart’s cry. Don’t just point me in the right direction but give me step by step instructions, for heaven’s sake.
And then my mind turns to running and to the difference between running on roads and exploring trails. A road run is pretty straightforward; even if you take a few wrongs turns, you can often figure out the route back to some landmark or main street. Trails are a different thing altogether.
When I run a trail, much of the joy is in the sense of exploration, the idea that I have not been that particular way before. And each part of the trail is absorbing in its own way. I have to pay attention to the uneven ground so that I don’t trip and, even when the path is smooth, there is so much around me that absorbs my focus. Needless to say, there are moments when my body is tired and my attention moves inward; I count my breaths, I steady my heart rate. But much of the time, I am simply following the road as it is revealed to me.
Since moving to Spain, I often run trails with a group of women runners who are all part of a local club. A couple of them know the hills really well, and plus they have these fancy watches where they’ve downloaded route maps. I know that if I just go the way they tell me, I will be okay. If they tried explaining the whole thing to me at the outset, it would be too much; there’s no way I’d be able to keep all those directions in my head, in English let alone in Spanish. But with them running along with me, I get all my instructions in bite-sized pieces: ‘Up to the stream and turn left.’
“Keep going in that direction and all will be well.”
Back to the psalm. It says, “You’re blessed when you follow his directions … and you don’t go off on your own.” Yes, I think. This invitation to be on the way, to stick to the stretch of path you can see, is best considered in company. There is a security in being on the path together, with the Spirit of God - our Guide - just a half-step ahead.
There’s an old Irish blessing that goes (you’ll have to imagine the poetic lilt) “May the road rise to meet you.” That sounds a bit like the unfolding, the revealing of the path as we are on it. And the blessing ends with, “ And until we meet again, may God hold you in the palm of his hand.”
That’s my prayer for you, my friend, as much as it is for me. “Here’s the route for today, my girl.”
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