The cabins at the retreat center sat way up in the woods. When I arrived, I carried my bag along the winding trail, criss-crossed by thick tree roots, and thought, “wow, this is a cool place!” I dropped my stuff and headed to dinner.
Later that night, after our evening meeting and dessert, I walked back to our cabin with a couple of students. No lights marked the path, no moon rose, and no stars shone through the clouds. The way up to the cabin felt like a tunnel. The pleasant stroll of early afternoon turned into a comedy of stubbed toes, near falls, and branches to the face.
The students with me laughed, then cursed, then apologized (I was a campus minister, after all—although my lack of profanity barely masked my frustration). We tossed around the idea of going back and sleeping in the meeting room. Years before mobile phones, no handy lights sat at our fingertips.
Finally, a well-prepared student appeared with a flashlight. After laughing at us (it was a college student retreat, you know), he led us up the path, now easily navigated with a small beam of light.
I think of this incident every time I read Psalm 119:105, Your word is a lamp to my feet, and a light to my path.
Our world throws shades at you and me every day. I stumble and curse as I navigate dark pathways. But then I remember the lamp provided by the Lord. His light—His Word—illuminates, clarifies, and comforts.
It’s an easy truth for me to forget, so it’s wonderful to re-discover that His light glows, waiting for me to open my soul in the darkness.
Psalm 119 in week twenty-nine of reading the Bible cover to cover
Photo by Steve Halama
Really good stuff. And so consistently good! I don’t comment every time I think this, but find myself thinking it a lot. Thanks for faithfully showing up, day after day.
Thank you Robin, you’re kind with your words!