It was the first snow of the season.
And treacherous, as it turned out.
As I embarked on my morning walk with my Bishon, Millie, the snow was still coming down, muffling the world with quiet.
I passed my neighbors as they cleaned off their driveway. “Be careful,” warned Greg. “It’s slippery. The Big Guy already went down. Hard.”
“The Big Guy” was the man who walked, seemingly almost always at the same time I did, even when I changed the time. He was known as sort of a grump, but he often said hi to me because we seemed to share the same dedication to walking every single day, at the same time.
I picked my way carefully, but I did slip a couple of times. A few hundred yards from my house, I passed “the Big Guy.” “Slippery,” I said. “I already went down,” he said. “Are you ok?” “Yes.”
So I walked on. I soon realized, after paying attention to where it was I slipped, that it was the smooth places that were most treacherous.
The rough places that were not cleared away were actually the safest.
It hit me: We want our way in life to be smooth. We think it’s safe. We know it’s easier.
We want easy. We want smooth.
But sometimes, smooth is dangerous. It’s the rough places that force us to trust in God.
And ultimately, that’s the safest place to be.
In fact, the only safe place to be.
Life has had its rough patches for me lately. Perhaps for you, too. But I’m more at peace with knowing that the rough patches are gifts. The rough patches are the safest. Walk there. With less fear, more confidence.