The assignment for today is to describe the path I am walking. What does it look like, sound like, smell like? Who is walking with me on the path?

My “road” is a small path along a sea cliff. It’s only wide enough for two people at a time to walk abreast. It’s a dirt path, worn lightly into the greenery. Below the cliffs, magnificent breakers crash against the jagged rocks, spraying high and then dancing out again. A fresh morning breeze with a touch of spring warmth ruffles my hair. Just a while back, there were mountains visible in the distance, but I can’t see any today.

Every once in a while, the path meanders off through the nearby woods. The woods are usually cool and pleasant—full of squirrels chattering happily as they chase around the trees. In the woods, the birds are singing cheerfully, while overtop the cliffs, the seagulls are shrieking and whirling madly on the breeze. Sometimes, though, the path is dark and scary. I always want to hurry through those sections, but I have learned to savour them as also essential to my journey. Important lessons await in the dark bits, but I have to wait until the light comes back before I can see why.

God lets me know each day how far He wants me to walk. He walks with me, too… I feel Him in the breeze. I’ve been skirting the cliff’s edge for a few months now. Ahead I see that the path eventually descends again toward the water. I don’t know why I know the path rises again afterward because there’s no map on this journey, but I know. Signposts are missing as I walk along… but oddly, I can see them when I glance back over my shoulder. I can see where I’ve been only when I look back. I don’t spend a lot of time looking back, though, because the path needs watching as one walks along… there are treacherous places. I do not know where I’m going… other than that I’m walking toward the horizon.

My companions are a blessing. Always walking with me, especially in my heart, is my husband, Marc. I am walking this path alone, but regularly I can rest in a meadow beside the path… and Marc is always there. He is the fire in the hearth of my heart, keeping me warm at all times in all places. A wounded soul is my beloved, a man whose music is constrained. Sometimes only I can hear it in the silence of my heart. Scarred deeply by the wounds of others, he is the song of joy and love in my soul. I wish he could hear the song like I do… it is beautifully written!

I walk side by side with many friends, though one at a time. Just last year, I finished my trip through the town of Cancer. I’m not sure I want to stop there again; it was a hard, hard place. Wonderful, loving people lived in the town, but it was still a hard, hard place. Gina walked with me through Cancer, and I would have been adrift without her… she brought a sparkle, a joy, and a comfort to those long and difficult days.

My longest friend, Sabrina, appears at every path-side shrine, every thin place. You know the kind of place? A place where someone encountered God and marked the spot with an altar like Jacob did at Bethel? Sabrina waits there at the thin places for me. She waits with her love, her faith, her compassion, and her real presence. She is a lamp for my journey. Sabrina continues to light my heart.

Raeleen was the quiet, sturdy coal, glowing steadily in the fireplace. Long covered with the ashes of invisibility, she waited at the small cafe table in the next village, just inside the door. She was stronger for a while, my friend Raeleen, and she held my tears and laughter gently in her heart. But she lost her way, and I can’t find her anymore. What I thought the friendship was is gone, and I grieve its loss.

I stopped often to see Claudette, as she spent much of her time in that town named Cancer. She left for the sunrise from there. I was happy to spend that short while as her friend, and she as mine. Like Claudette, my mom lived in Cancer, too, and I did not want her to go. But she did, two years ago now. She didn’t walk with me during my life journey as much as I wished for. She taught me my prayers, about God, and how to cook. She loved me fiercely in her own way. She loved each one of us, but had a hard time showing what wasn’t shown to her by her mother.

Mom gave me a precious gift before she left: she let me pour out my hurts, my questions, my lonely daughter’s heart. I think she was surprised to know how much I had missed her company on my life journey. I know she felt she needed to walk with dad through the valley of bipolar disorder, more than walk with us kids, especially after we left home. I have missed my mother’s attentive presence for most of my life. Now that she is really gone, it’s almost easier, because she is more present to me now than she could be in life.

My sister, Judy, has been my lifelong companion. She keeps her distance because her route is different. It was pretty bumpy for her for a while, but now she’s found a resting place and a purpose with Joe. Always the fiercest of family guardians, my sister is my precious friend.

I’ve been blessed with many women friends and mentors along my path: Sr. Annata, Nancy, Ruby, Lesley, Swarnamala, Kathleen, Myrtle, Miriam, Joanne, Dolores, Trish, Jean, Christine… and more. When we have a chance to meet at the local well to talk, we draw life-giving refreshment for our respective journeys. We talk about weighty, mystical things as we womenfolk share the path together… life, God, love, growth, pain, joy, suffering, loss, mothers… Sorrows are deep. Tears are close to the surface. Silences are pregnant with unspoken scars. Words are often replaced with hallowed presence. Laughter has a sorrow to it. Mourning and giving birth to a new self at every twist of the path is hard labour. We’ve many wounds, but we bind one another up, and bring each other gently along to the next thin place.

This life path is difficult, but it’s a good path overall. I’ve learned much that I didn’t even know I wanted to know. I’ve walked on holy ground, seen “touch points of grace,” and sung songs of joy. I’ve buried the dead, comforted sorrowers, confronted sinners, and picked away steadily at the plank in my own eye. How fragile our hearts, yet how indestructible… Being in ongoing formation is pure gift. It’s a touch of mystical holiness in a year of new beginnings.

Here I am, Lord, tell me what you would have me do for you! Teach me to truly pray. Each day, let me be still and remove my shoes, for this life path is holy ground.