The Fog Will Not Stay

On the morning of my birthday, I woke up early to spend some time with the Lord in prayer about the year (and, let’s be real, to go get my free Starbucks drink). That morning, the hills of western Pennsylvania were covered in fog - it was one of the foggiest mornings I had seen. I felt the Lord say, “This is how your next year is going to feel - foggy.” 

As I drove to Starbucks, I contemplated that image. I thought about how fog makes it difficult to see the whole path, but you can usually see your feet, and at least a few steps ahead - just enough to keep going forward. I thought about how the only thing that clears the fog is the sun rising - which you can’t control - and if you try to light my way through the fog, it only makes it harder to see. And I thought about how in Exodus, God’s presence led God’s people through the wilderness as a pillar of cloud - God’s presence dwelt in the fog.

In the abstract, the image of fog is no big deal; in reality, it’s incredibly uncomfortable - and at times, terrifying and frustrating. I’ve been back home in Gainesville, GA for almost a week, and the metaphorical fog seems to have settled in - I have no idea what lays before me. I can see just a few steps on the path ahead, but everything beyond it seems uncertain. I left my job of three years, and my original plans got derailed (#covid). Throw in a few more unexpected life events, and I find myself asking, “What are you doing, Lord? And what am I supposed to do?”

This post is unlike the other blogs I’ve written, but I’m compelled to write this because I imagine many other people are feeling the same sense of uncertainty. I keep asking the Lord, “Where do you want me to be?” and God keeps asking me back, “Where are your feet right now?” When I focus on investing in the present moment, rather than trying to figure out where the path leads, I find that I live a much more fruitful Kingdom life. God keeps reminding me that God’s word is a light unto my feet - so I need to dig in deep, and God’s word will illuminate each step. I don’t need to see the whole path. I simply need to keep taking the next step, even in the fog.

On my last morning at camp, I wrote this poem in my journal, which sums up my thoughts well:

The fog has returned with the morning
But this time it doesn't scare me
Because I know the fog doesn't change the landscape
It simply obscures what’s always been there
So don’t squint harder to see through it
But trust the One who is on the other side
And also within
And also beside
And take steps forward
Despite uncertainty
Clinging to truth:

The sun rises in the morning
The fog will not stay
The road before you is laid
The God of Jacob makes a way.