Fog

It was a crisp morning along the Han River. I stepped through the doorway of the Brownstone apartements and peered into the fog. As I began my early morning run on this frigid Seoul Seollee, I remembered a night from my teenage years.

I was with a group of FFA high school boys returning from a dairy judging contest in Fort Smith, Arkansas. We were traveling home through the Boston Mountains. Mr. Winningham was driving. At one point we swerved around a curve and literally hit a wall of fog. He continued to drive at a much slower pace. After a few minutes of silence, he said, “Gramps, I’m sure glad you can see that white line along the side of the road because I can’t see anything.”

Gramps looked alarmed. “Son, haven’t seen that white line for the last two miles.” The car came to a stop. Gramps got out and walked in front of the car. After getting his bearings, he found that white line and began to walk it. Even though he was just a few feet away, Gramps’ frail figure was often difficult to see. For the next hour, we traveled in this fashion. We had no choice but to trust in the white line and to believe that it would keep us from falling off the side of that mountain pass.

Between the night on Boston Mountain and the morning run in Yonhidong, there have been a number of fogs in my life; the decision to leave Arkansas and seek my future elswhere, grieving over the loss of loved ones, being attacked in vile ways by pious church members, fearing the worst in the complications of our son’s birth, experiencing 25 years of memories and possessions being washed away in a flood, facing financial challenges, living apart from family at a time in my life when I should be holding close to cherished relationships.

In my most confused and darkest moments there has been that silent plea, “How can I?” – “…go on; …face this; …keep up; ...love anyway.” When I would become lost in the fog, there is the abiding presence of God—guiding, loving, encouraging.

When I listen to the hearts of many around me, read the paper and see the images of daily life portrayed on TV, and walk through the streets of our cities, I know that my worst experiences in life are mere inconveniences compared to the horror and hurt of many.

It is in such moments that I find meaning and hope in the understanding that even as we struggle through the fog to walk that white line, God in Christ comes among us to hold the pain and the anger of humanity in compassionate arms and to extend a divine love that can never be explained, only experienced.