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| November 18 |
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"Two roads diverged in a yellow wood, And sorry I could not travel both And be one traveler, long I stood And looked down one as far as I could To where it bent in the undergrowth; Then took the other, as just as fair, And having perhaps the better claim, Because it was grassy and wanted wear; Though as for that, the passing there Had won them really about the same, And both that morning equally lay In leaves no step had trodden black. Oh, I kept the first for another day! Yet knowing how way leads on to way, I doubted if I should ever come back. I shall be telling this with a sigh Somewhere ages and ages hence: Two roads diverged in a wood, and I--- I took the one less traveled by, And that has made all the difference." -Robert Frost I've read the poem before I write And remember roads and wood Again and wondered if I might Use this holy time to light On choices made, some bad, some good. Like you, I've stood and worried much Of what might be or might have been. If only this then maybe that and such Sends our minds, our souls to touch The mystery of all that is, seen and unseen. Late at night, lover breathing, children asleep I sit alone to think and pray Of decisions made, promises to keep. Times I laugh and times I weep As sunlight marks another day. Would I be who I am now If roads chosen and others missed Might be different, somehow. And where, I ask, does God take His bow? Distant? In some cosmic bliss? Does the will of God play a part In mindful choices that we make Or matters of a passionate heart? Here, you see, is a hesitant start In wondering...is this all for God's sake? A child is sick. A husband dies. The world is turned upside down With pious promises, unholy lies. Fatuous talk amidst painful cries. Is this the God we claim to crown? Questions with the morning come. I've wrestled again with a heavenly something, Ignoring the counsel and warning of some Who, in disturbing aplomb, Demand nothing but inerrant believing. I will not, cannot lay claim To a God who deigns to choose A course of action, an evil aim Deciding without reason or shame who will win and who will lose Two roads diverged, the poet wrote And I pause and ponder this path taken. Is this "the one less traveled by", to quote Has my life been of so little note With ease and comfort as my motivation? Torn and tossed on a rough night's sea, I rise from bed to once again decide Of what I shall do and what I will be. Shall I witness boldly or quietly flee From what I believe and with whom I side? The road less traveled is the disciple's call. This seems certain in studying the one Who, by words and by witness, offers to all A chance for meaning, salvation after the fall That lives out what He has already done. The road less traveled is the compassionate way Of a life lived for others, a difficult choice A light in the darkness, the sun's morning ray That lives to announce what God has to say. A singular existence, a solitary voice. Now for those of you pausing to choose At two roads diverging in a yellow wood. Remember the one who came not to win but to lose And in so doing revealed a life for the few That brings meaning and purpose, value and good. "You did not choose me" the Savior said, "But I chose you". A vital thing Proclaiming the truth. Life from the dead. Of all that is said, sung or read. This is what matters. Everything. In all of our choosing, no matter the place, Remember the promise of God's holy voice. The Gospel is measured in fortunes of grace. This is what draws us toward heavenly space. You are loved, sister, brother mine. Rejoice! |
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