On this episode of Wayfarer, we'll hear stories from Deborah Alexander and a song from Raleigh Kincaid.
I grew up just south of Lexington in Richmond, Kentucky. In high school I remember swearing that when I got out, I would never live in this town again. So, of course, now we live thirty seconds from where I grew up—I timed it.
Like most high schoolers, I was often bored, and so one Saturday I decided to take a drive. I went to Tates Creek Road in Richmond and turned right and kept on going. I rolled down the windows, put on my favorite Kansas tape, and drove. In a little while, the road ended fairly abruptly at the river. I was about to turn around, but a man waved me forward onto a ferry. Being the polite and respectful highschooler that I was, I did what he said. I drove onto the Valley View Ferry and went across the river.
I had never been this far out Tates Creek Road before and had never been on a ferry either, but I figured I knew the way back and would be fine. I kept on going, and eventually realized I was in Lexington. Tates Creek turned into High Street, and finally, after actually getting nowhere, I decided to turn around. Though I was never really lost, for most of the trip I didn’t know where I was.
That feels a lot like life to me. We are often unable to suss out our precise location in the grand scheme of things. We may have a general idea of our direction, but what’s around the bend is impossible to know for sure. And though we may know the way back home, it will be different when we return—and so will we.
Often the best we can do is offer a holy guess at what road we might take and see where it leads. After all, is it the path we take or the way we walk the path that matters most?