This morning, I drove through the fog. I drove further than I usually do. I didn’t traverse the bridge that leads to the church but wove up the highway on Route 95 all the way to Augusta for a Religious Coalition Against Discrimination event. I turned off MPBN and turned my heart to prayer. Of course, it wasn’t a morning that I felt particularly prayerful. I couldn’t organize my thoughts. I couldn’t really claim any sense of calm. So, I considered the fog.
|Wonderland by Rev. Elsa A. Peters.|
On each turn, it seemed like I was reaching the edge. The fog thickened. It seemed endless — and there didn’t seem to be any clarity. It just went on and on. And just when I thought I’d emerged from the mist, it got thicker. I started to wonder what might be hidden in the fog. And then, I remembered that I was trying to pray. So, I wondered where God was. I wondered if God was in the fog. Somewhere. Maybe around that turn. Maybe in that thickness over there. Or maybe I’m not supposed to see her. Maybe she’s just waiting for me to realize that she’s there. I don’t need to see her to know that. I just need to trust that as surely as the fog will lift — God will be there.
The fog seemed lighter. When I turned off to exit 109, the sun came out. It shone through the mist so that I was sure I would see a rainbow. I would see a sign of God’s promise. It seemed appropriate but I didn’t really want to see the sun. I was content with the fog. There was something familiar about its thickness. There was something comforting about its place in my morning. I wanted to continue to be in the fog.