Breadcrumbs

Michael Jastremski for openphoto.net

Ryan and I went out for a walk yesterday with Alice in the stroller and wound up venturing down a country road.  We noticed that there were hardly any other people out and about, so it was really quiet, but that was nice, because it really gave us a chance to talk without being distracted. 

 We looked at houses as we walked, admiring quaint vegetable gardens and nostalgic backyard clotheslines, wondering aloud to one another when the day would ever come for us to own a house of our own.

 Our walk reminded me of the strolls we used to take on winter nights when we lived in Fargo, talking about the future…always about the future.  We’d wanted to leave Fargo for quite some time to experience something else and move forward with our lives, but neither of us had any clear indication of how or when that would come about. 

 Initially, it was exciting talking about the road ahead as we walked hand-in-hand around the neighborhood, the icy streets crackling beneath our feet.  Eventually, however, our little late-night routine became tedious because it seemed we were always talking in circles—walking in circles and talking in circles—and no matter how much we went over things, our futures still continued to appear as black as the night that surrounded us.

 That’s how I’ve always tended to view my future—just a black expanse.  I don’t say this to mean I anticipate the upcoming years to be scary or depressing—I only mean that I’ve never had a clear picture of what’s been up ahead. 

 Not everyone has seemed so clueless.  I remember feeling genuinely shocked one time when Ryan and I got together with another young married couple in Fargo who revealed their future plans to us.  It seemed they already had everything carefully mapped out—from their unborn children to their jobs to the lake cabin they were going to inherit in their retirement.  Now, I realize that might not seem too unusual, but it was foreign to me because I’d grown so accustomed to my own lack of foresight.

 It’s not that Ryan and I don’t make plans.  We’ve just moved around a lot since getting married, and Ryan’s current job involves possible upcoming moves, so it’s hard to say what’s ahead—where we’ll be and exactly what we’ll be doing.  Who knows how many kids we’ll have, what town we’ll live in, what kind of a house we’ll have—if we have one at all? 

 Well, obviously, God does.  

 As we walked along together down that quiet country road, I was reminded of Hansel and Gretel and the image of their breadcrumb trail.  Although the birds ate the crumbs and foiled Hansel and Gretel’s plan to follow the trail home, that’s not the part of the story that really sticks with me.  (And surprisingly, neither does the cannibalistic witch!)  I only tend to remember that breadcrumb trail, as though it never got destroyed, and it reminds me of how I often feel in my own life—like I’m following a trail of breadcrumbs into the black expanse, going slowly, from one breadcrumb to the next, not knowing exactly what’s coming but knowing that I need to get to the next breadcrumb. 

 

 I’ve noticed that this is how God seemed to lead His people a lot of the time in the Bible. Hebrews 11:8 says, for example, that Abraham “obeyed when he was called to go out to the place which he would receive as an inheritance. And he went out, not knowing where he was going.”  This also reminds me of Moses and the children of Israel on their way to the Promised Land.  It brings up images of the manna God left them in the mornings, which Moses described to the Israelites as “the bread which the Lord has given you to eat” in Exodus 16:15. 

 I see the manna as being similar to the breadcrumbs in that both symbolize trust for God’s provision.  God didn’t allow the Israelites to gather more manna than they needed for one day and store it up for the future—He required them to live from day-to-day, trusting in Him to supply their needs and lead them while they were en route to the Promised Land. This reminds me of Ryan and myself, because, though we see a few things that have been promised in our future, we still don’t have the slightest inkling of how to get there—except to follow the breadcrumbs on a daily basis.

 In John 6:35, Jesus said, “I am the bread of life.”  Though what lies ahead may be uncertain, I’m just glad that Jesus leaves us a trail of breadcrumbs to follow, which is Himself.  All of this causes it to make even more sense to me when, in the Bible, Jesus continually says things like, “Follow me,” and “I am the Way.” 

 Although I sometimes resent the fact that my future tends to feel like a great black expanse, in the end, I’m thankful for it in spite of its crumminess, because the mystery allows me to grow in my relationship with Christ through trust in His leading and provision.

 And so I go, moving forward from one breadcrumb to the next.  It truly is an adventure.