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The Path at My Feet

I am drawn to the idea that I may be "used" by God in many ways of which I am unaware. This possibility regularly quells the ego-driven notion that I should be doing something "special" or more "spiritual" than what I'm already doing in my daily life. Instead of getting up in the middle of the night with my young daughter, or changing the oil in our family's cars, or bringing home enough money to allow my wife to stay home with our children, I should (so my ego says) be volunteering at a homeless shelter, leading a meditation retreat or protesting mountain top removal. Of course any of these things have their place and they all meet real needs, but I'm not sure they are more important, more spiritual or more meritorious than the other activities. I don't think God does the same kind of spiritual accounting that I do.

 Nevertheless, I must acknowledge that the "God works in mysterious ways" principle can be a cop out. God will use me however he wants, so I'll just go about my life without worrying too much about how I live or how my actions affect others. Of course it's usually not that conscious, but somewhere this thought can lurk in the mind. The saving principle here, I think, the thing that prevents aloofness and spiritual oblivion is the daily practice of spiritual disciplines, which anchor me to Something bigger than my own small and stingy will. These disciplines serve as a small beam of light by which to steer my course in tiny increments. With this beam I can at least see the next step, though I may never, and probably need never, see the whole path at once.

 Several years ago on a camping trip I was walking from the campsite to the community bathroom. It was night and I lit my way by shining a flashlight several yards in front of me. I could not see the ground at my feet. To my right a young boy was heading in the same direction. He also carried a flashlight, but he pointed the beam straight down, illuminating the path at his feet. In this way he could pick his way safely through the woods. Beside him walked his father, whose presence he could sense and whom he followed intuitively. He didn't need to see where he was going, only to know he was close to his father as he tried to keep from falling on the path.

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