Paths That Lead Nowhere

I took a half-day of prayer today. I try (but frequently fail) to do this on the first Friday of every month. I nearly always start my half-day of prayer by praising God. I usually do this while walking a trail in some state or county park. As I walk, I go through the alphabet and find something I admire about God that begins with A, then B, C, and so on, all the way to Z.

Today, I went to Ferretti-Baugo Park in St. Joseph County, IN. The park covers 214 acres, with Baugo Creek winding through it on its way to the St. Joseph River. I’ve done my half-day of prayer at this park three or four times and have walked most of its trails.

I usually head south down the trail marked “Portage,” which leads to some pretty places along the creek. Today, however, I decided to follow the trail sign that read: To Palisades. (Maybe it’s because I’ve been back to Treasure Island in the last few weeks, and I remembered that Stevenson mentions the palisades around the pirates’ island stronghold.)

The trail was not as nice as the “Portage” trail. It ran along fences and houses, next to old cars and derelict fishing boats. Instead of hearing the river sing, as I do on the Portage Trail, I heard the repeated blasts of a freight train’s horn, less than a tenth of a mile away. But I thought it would be worth it to find the Palisades. I might even see (in my mind’s eye) young Jim Hawkins or brave Captain Smollett, holed up in the stronghold, fighting off Long John Silver’s cruel buccaneers.

But I didn’t find the Palisades. For one thing, the trail markers were nearly useless. “Does this marker point down that trail or the one that veers at a slight angle away from it? Sometimes, the trail marker would display the word “Palisades” with arrows pointing in opposite directions. It was nuts.

But I was determined. I tried one trail, then another—only to find it was all the same trail, running in a loop. Sometimes, I walked in a northerly direction. Sometimes, on a southerly course. I passed over the same trail so often that the squirrels were getting to know me, but I never saw the palisades. I began to think there is no palisades, for I noticed that most of the trail markers did not point to “Palisades” but to “Palisades Trail.” Perhaps the trail is not the way to the attraction; perhaps it is the attraction.

I, for one, did not find it particularly attractive. I walked within 75 feet of a row of houses, a dozen feet from old cars and boats, and an arm’s length from two angry dogs (Pit Bulls, I think) that barked insanely and threw themselves against the six-foot-tall fence that separated us. There was an opaque fabric that covered the dogs’ side of the fence, so I could not see them clearly, but if I am any judge of a dog’s bark, they were snarling, “I’m going to kill you” again and again.

I finally – it really was a long time – gave up on finding the Palisades. Anyway, I wasn’t there to sightsee but to pray, and I had done lots of that as I walked (with special earnestness when the dogs tried to knock down the fence). Among other things, I prayed for a friend and for the friend of a friend. Both seem to have got on a path on which they go endlessly but get nowhere. After today, I understand a little better what that is like.

Humanity walks on a ruined earth, the result of Adam’s rebellion and the long, devastating war that followed. The paths we take frequently lead nowhere. We lose ourselves and we cannot find our God.

But it will not always be so. The day will come when our long search will be over, not because we have found God by our cleverness, but because he has found us by his love. Even this ruined earth will be rescued and restored. Its circular paths will be straightened, and all paths will lead to him.

In that day, we will learn that we were never alone, even on our circular paths that led nowhere. There was always Another with us. He did not walk beside us because he was afraid for us – never that – but because (wonder of wonders) he likes us, loves us, and enjoys being near us.