Looking back over my life’s not something I spend much time doing. Today’s about all I can handle.
Reading Rachel Joyce’s, The Unlikely Pilgrimage of Harold Fry, left me wondering, identifying with Harold’s arduous, amazing pilgrimage of redemption.
Reflecting reminded me, of when circumstances, choice moments slowed life to a walk. Life un-blurred. Ordinary people and places became anything but. Moments, shrouded in sameness, until God slipped in, like Light, revealing how holy the ordinary.
Harold, whose wife, when asked at onset of his pilgrimage, if he was a religious man replied,”Harold? The only time he calls on God is when the throttle goes on the lawn mower.”
Then a moment, discovering purpose beyond himself, one foot in front of the other, mile after mile, until it was said of ordinary Harold, “He walked so surely it was as if all his life he had been waiting to get up from his chair.”
Wondering, what or who gets a rise out of me?
“Rise up O men ( and women) of God, have done with lesser things.”
The lesser things… devilish deterrents, keeping us seated when we’re made for more. Meant for mysteries, puzzles, predicaments, daring adventures with God into the unknown, less travelled paths of pilgrims and saints.
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