yellow_wood

My bones are old and much less seems important. I would trade tickets to the Super Bowl for a morning cup of coffee on the porch. Dreams change. Adventures shorten; and God teaches us to number our days.

Robert Frost understood the same when he penned, “The Road not Taken.” As paths diverged, he peered down the yellow wood and understood he could not travel both. There is sorrow in the road not taken; and a choice that comes but once. There is no returning to this point. And the joys of that road will never be known in this lifetime.

And so with life’s journey. Welcome to mine. I limp more now, as Jacob heading home. My eyes have failed. And though I hear the bluebird’s call, can no longer see among the canopy of branches.

Lord, teach us to number our days. The end of the matter; all has been heard. Fear God and keep his commandments, for this is the whole duty of man. For God will bring every deed into judgment, with every secret thing, whether good or evil.

On my journey, I have chosen grace, and though I limp, there stands against me no condemnation. Unlike Frost, the path I take was given. It was not the one I wanted, but it leads home.