Stopping By Woods on a Snowy Evening


There is a Robert Frost poem.
Perhaps you know it.

I have committed some of this to memory, since revisiting it in college. Today, I reread this piece of art.

I feel a kinship to its words – its emotion – its innuendoes.

I’m beginning another new season starting today.
I have kept it close to the chest for God has a way of orchestrating His timing with perfect meter, perfect resonance. I have learned, while listening to His symphony of this daughter’s life, that He alone knows the next beat, the next crescendo, the next measure. If I think I have an idea where the swells are headed, I only find myself shocked and awed by His changes. His beautiful harmony.

This next phase for me: moving to College Station, Texas to live and help my Aunt in her difficult health – to work as many shifts as God gives me, saving money, earning, building up finances — this next stage is my version of stopping by the woods on a snowy evening. And it’s breathtaking in its quiet reverie. It’s pregnant with meaning and verification of soul.

My King has made passage for me.
It may look as if I’m aimless or wandering.
It may have strong “horses” questioning my travel.
It may look odd, or unsafe, or irresponsible.

Such warnings have been spoken to me.
Yet I know whose woods I journey through.

And I have promises to keep, and miles to go yet.
I owe homage and service to One.
He, I follow
He I know
I stop to watch the flakes paint peace upon an unfamiliar safety. A wood some may not know. Yet this is my night of travel. It is not time for sleep just yet.
This is my obedience. This scary but steady place. Moonlit in assurance.
There will be time for everything under the sun. I can only follow the true Conductor, the true Navigator, and do my best to tell my companions there is no mistake as I keep the pace. I must remind myself amidst the noise. If I start to vary, may I remember the sound of snow falling. May I remember the blanket of newness. The sharpness of season’s metamorphosis.

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