Cling

The water sprayed up from Rod's wheel, forming tears on my sunglasses.

I was too tired for the ride but I knew I had to ride.
I rode until it hurt and then I rode some more, stroke after stroke, my mind wandering at times.
Not knowing where I was and hurting as well, I clung to the wheel in front of me, trusting its operator knew the way.

The line from the Psalm ran through my mind: "I cling to you; your right hand upholds me."

When I got home I stopped in the driveway staring at the snow.
I noticed the snow, which hours earlier had been solid white, was now giving way to patches of green grass.
I admitted that morning- begrudgingly- that the snow was beautiful and now it was slipping away.

I stood there praying the line from the Psalm.

Life is beautiful and mysterious.

Someday all the roads will be known. In the meantime, I'm clinging to the wheel of the One who is the Way.