Losing the path

Some of what I have written on this blog is a consequence of real passion. A shocking number of things I have written here were outgrowth of hearing a recorded sermon, or reading an article online or in a magazine – or even watching a video on YouTube – where someone says or writes something I consider both wrong and dangerous. And sometimes the comments section will set me straight, sometimes the comments section reinforces my beliefs, and sometimes it just sits empty.

There are a surprising number of emails I have gotten over the last 14 years (or so) from people who stumbled across this blog. Some of those email exchanges turn into genuine (but remote) friendships, others don't really go very far.

As an aside: I don't try very hard to maintain my anonymity on this blog, but I try "not very hard." I generally don't mention where I work, or where I live, etc. I'm sure anyone who cares can figure those out. I try to extend the same lazy anonymity to the comment section, so I try to avoid giving away too much about people who leave comments. 

I should say, my favorite thing about this blog has been the people I've "met" from it. One or two I was privileged to meet in real life. And of course it goes the other way too: sometimes a real life friend reads my blog and that can set off some conversations too.

When I started this blog, it was more "for me" than "for you." I still read and re-read this blog, because I lose my way a lot. Sometimes I'm like the people in Psalm 107:1–7, who start out on a clear path, but somehow that path gets blurry, or lost, and they find themselves wandering. Well, I find myself wandering a lot, and when I realize I'm sort of wandering, it's helpful to look back at a time when I could see the path. 

The Lord told the Ephesians to remember "from whence ye are fallen" (Revelation 2:5). This blog is one of the things that helps me remember, when I realize I've lost sight of the path.

I was very young when I came to know the Lord. I've been at this "walking with the Lord" thing for probably 45 years. I don't do it very well, but I've been doing it a long time. In that time, I've learned that it's really easy to lose sight. It's hard to believe, when you're caught up in godly zeal, that you'll ever get dragged into the mundane. But you will. 

Don't confuse losing sight with unbelief. There's a huge difference between losing sight and losing faith. 

When you realize you've lost sight – and you will – then it's not time to hide, it's time to cry out to the Lord. He knows us, He remembers that we are dust. He isn't surprised when we lose sight, or when we sin. He's not even surprised when we sin really, really bad. The very best thing you can do when you realize you've lost the path is to stop walking. Your walking is making it worse. Stop and cry out to Him.

Earlier this year I got lost when I was out hunting. It was oddly similar to Psalm 107:1–7.  I kept my bearings very well, but I had forgotten what the map looked like, so I was actually going parallel to the road I was trying to intercept. I had remembered it running east-west, when it actually heads south for a very long way before coming back east. In fact, I only realized what had happened when I popped out of the treeline at a point I'd only ever seen when gazing across a gully. 

Part of the problem was that I was keeping up a good pace: when you're going the wrong way, the faster you go, the more lost you become.

Once I realized what I had done wrong, I took my compass out of my pack for the first time in decades and took some bearings: the sun was going down quickly, and I wanted to be sure I knew where I was going while there was still daylight left. That adventure ended sort of anti-climatically: I had hiked a trail through the bottom of the gully before, and was able to get back to that trail before dark. I was able to get back to my truck just after dark.

The point is, when you lose sight of the path, going quickly doesn't help. If you're not on the path, every step might well be taking you further away. So when you realize you've lost the path, don't keep walking. Stop and ask for help. "Lord, save me!" (Matthew 14:30).

I had something else I was going to write about, but I think it'll have to wait for another time.

Elk season this year was one misadventure after another. One very experienced hunter I know says, "You have to walk 500 miles for each elk you shoot." If I had set out to prove him right, I'm not sure what more I could have done this year.