When I was about 7 years old, my Dad, sister, and I went on a hike. I showed my Dad the path our class had taken a few weeks previously at a nearby nature reserve, wanting to show him what I had learned. Little did I know that it was the start of a 5k trail, and despite my protests, Dad wouldn’t turn around.
Hours later (okay, it felt like it), after scary stories about snakes and Native Americans, we were hot and tired. And tiiiiiired. 🙂 I was worried that we were hopelessly lost, and Dad kept wandering off the trail to walk on a road next to the path.
I was having NONE of that!
There was a trail. We were going to follow it. So, I did what any
unrational 7 year old does and sat down in the middle of the path, refusing to budge. When Dad came to pick me up and carry me, I bit him.
Hard. There may have been blood involved.
Did I mention that I *might* have been a troublesome child at times?
I got my way, and we walked in the ditch for another kilometer or so until we finally made it back to the nature center.
You see, I was lost. I didn’t know where the path was going, and when things were suddenly switched up, worries overtook me. I panicked and freaked out.
Sound familiar? Happens more than I like to admit. I don’t always see the whole path, but the Lord does. I might think I’m lost, but He knows right where I am.
It’s FMF time, where I gather with hundreds of other bloggers to write together on a common prompt. This week’s word is Lost. Check out Lisa-Jo’s blog for the full blog flash mob!