Today is my second day of following the prompt, #liturgyofthelittlethings by Sarah E. Westfall. She describes this prompt on Instagram: “Liturgy of the Little Things is not a hunt for silver linings or a way to mask the pain or turn our heads from who is hurting. Rather, it’s a resistance—a way to wrap our fingers around some hope and sit down together in the beautiful dirt of our everyday lives.“
This morning my hope was found with two reminders on our hike up Meek’s Mountain.
The first was the signpost that indicated Jim and I were still hiking on the red and white, three-mile path we had chosen to take. This well-worn path was easy to follow – but it was helpful to be reassured that it was the correct one for our day’s plans and goals. Any of the other paths would have led us back to the trailhead, but this sign kept us on our best route for today.
My hope was gleaned from the life lesson it offered. As we seek to live our unique mission or purpose, the affirmations we receive along the way can reassure us that we are following our best path. These signposts of encouragement help to relieve and to empower us to continue. (Thank you, Sandy, for your words yesterday which served as a signpost for me!)
The second was a bench near the halfway point of our trail. This bench inspired my hope for these days when life feels like a never-ending uphill climb. We are invited to pause… rest… listen… reflect along the way. Our moments of rest and reflection are essential stops along our journey. There are times when the best we can do is to cease our relentless pursuit, delay our determined progress, and say, “This is enough for now.”
May you find many reasons for hope today.
There is something I would like,
desire I won’t choose to hide,
and that’s to take a nature hike
with my dear and lovely bride,
to walk upon an upward path
unto a sun-kissed hill,
holding hands, perchance to laugh,
but that is not God’s will.
I can walk a dozen paces,
less, perhaps, but never more,
without going to the places
that cancer has in store,
the bourns without a clear clean breath,
the signposts of my very death.
😢 I can only imagine… the next hike I take will be in honor of you.
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Karen, you brought tears to my eyes, and for that, I am grateful.
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