The Path Ahead
by Kris Flynn
It’s mid-July when I walk along the forest path with my two friends. The air is humid, and my skin is sticky with sweat. We have never walked this deep into the woods before. The path is almost completely covered with pinecones, so much so that I couldn’t tell that roots crisscrossed the path until I tripped over one. I fell forward and braced for impact on the hard, damp ground. My palms stung, but I was otherwise okay.
My friend on my right asked if I was alright. I nodded silently. He outstretched his hand to help me up. I took his help and slowly lifted myself. My other friend on my left exclaimed sharply, “You wouldn’t have tripped if you weren’t so unaware of your surroundings.” I didn’t appreciate his unhelpful comment, but I said nothing in return. We began to walk again.
Many hours go by as we continue on the path. I begin to feel a sense of déjà vu as I notice that no matter how far we go into the forest, the surroundings of the path look exactly the same. I wondered if I was the only one of us to take note of this. There were never any branching paths, only the one path going forward, so we couldn’t have backtracked. I didn’t bother stating my discovery as it seemed like neither of my friends was in the mood to deliberate. We continued walking onward.
The sun was beginning to set, and what little I could see of the sky was like a gemstone of topaz. Even in my current situation, I could admire the beauty of the moment. My friend on my left abruptly halted. My other friend and I came to a stop a few steps ahead in response. A few seconds lapsed as I looked over my shoulder, looking back at my friend inquisitively. His head hung low, as if he were staring at his shoes. I instinctively looked down at my own shoes in the now-fading glow of the setting sun. My once bright white sneakers were now covered with thick, grayish, murky mud.
I looked up and found my voice. “What’s going on?”
My friend slowly raised his head upward. Immediately, I noticed a scowl on his face. “What’s going on?!” he posed my question angrily back at me. “We are far from home, have no provisions, and have no idea where our destination even is! That’s what’s going on.”
We all stood in silence together.
Why is he so angry? I thought to myself. Was it because he was scared? I wouldn’t blame him for feeling that way. After all, we’ve been walking for many days with no clear direction but forward. I wasn’t scared, but admittedly, I was full of anxiety, wondering just what was ahead.
Suddenly, my angry friend threw his hands over his head in frustration. “That’s it, I’m done,” he blustered aloud. “I’m going back.”
My other friend spoke up, sounding really concerned, “You can’t head back, there’s nothing back there for us!”
The angry friend, all in one motion, twisted around and sarcastically stated, “Watch me,” and started back along the path we had come. That was the last time I saw him.
I could tell my other friend was feeling scared for our friend who had left. So was I. But neither of us made any motion to turn around to follow him, for we knew that going back would only lead to our destruction.
Under my breath, I whispered, “Come on,” and with heavy hearts, we continued down the path.
More hours passed; it was now nightfall. The full moon cascaded light down through the branches and the canopy of trees above. Neither of us had spoken since our friend left us, yet I could feel a sense of heaviness over us both. No words were necessary to describe or confirm this empathy we both most certainly felt. The heaviness was so pronounced that I found myself hanging my head down as I walked, almost as if the burden I felt from the loss of our friend was too heavy for my neck to bear.
“Look!” my friend exclaimed excitedly.
Having been in silence for so long, my friend’s sudden exclamation caused me to feel a jolt of both fear and anticipation. I looked up and saw, about thirty meters ahead, a fork in the path. This was the first change we had seen in the path since we started it so long ago. Suddenly, the fear I had was gone, and it was replaced with a burst of adrenaline. Both of us started to hurriedly jog toward the new discovery, as quickly as our achy muscles would allow.
Both of us stood at the mouth of the split in the path. The path splitting to the left was very wide and seemed to be a continuation of the path we had travelled thus far. The path splitting to the right, however, was very narrow, and both sides of the path were lined with thorn bushes. If we went to the right, we would have to be very careful and walk single file, one behind the other, at a slow pace to avoid the thorns.
I glanced over at my friend. He was staring straight ahead, with a stern expression on his face. “Well, we would make better time on the wide path,” my friend said assuredly.
I knew he was probably right; however, I had a strong instinct that the way we actually needed to go was down the narrow path. “I think we need to go right,” I stated more confidently than I had any right to declare.
“What makes you so sure?” my friend inquired.
I paused for a minute before responding, rolling over the words in my mind that I wanted to impart, all to make sure that my reasoning made my case well. “The wide path is safer, but reminds me of where we have already come from. Safe only because it is familiar.”
My friend studied my face intently, as if trying to measure the truth in my words. After a short while, my friend spoke up. “You may be right; however, a feeling is not enough for me. You can go your way, and I mine.”
Those words cracked like a whip against my heart. Already had I lost one friend. I had no wish to lose another. I tried desperately for the next twenty minutes to persuade my friend to trust me and the strong discernment I had to go down the narrow path, with no luck. It was clear he was resolute in his choice.
We hugged and promised that when we finally reached the end of each of our respective journeys, we would once again embrace on that day. He placed his hand on my shoulder, and a small, sincere smile cracked his lips. Without another word, he turned and walked away. I watched as he went out of sight.
I mourned seeing my dear friend leave. We had come so far together, and it felt odd to continue without him. However, as I started down my own path, I found that even though it was difficult going at times, I was filled with a renewed sense of hope — a sort of hope that wasn’t broken because of my struggle, but was instead galvanized by it. No longer was I headed in a direction that led me to what was easy. Now I was headed toward what was for the best.
About the Author
Kris Flynn: I’m a born and raised Nova Scotian. I’m an aspiring apologist and currently studying theology. I value truth with compassion and justice, and seek God’s will through His Word every day. I played basketball growing up and love reading, writing, and cats. Especially my cat, Drew.
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Image is in the Public Domain. Modified by Veronica McDonald.
