And Miles to go Before I Sleep

Greetings Dear Reader,

The woods are lovely, dark and deep,

But I have promises to keep,

And miles to go before I sleep,

And miles to go before I sleep. – Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening - Robert Frost

As a teacher I spend a great deal of time pondering the road ahead. I am constantly planning where my students need to go next to be what they must be by the end of the term. As good as this is, I think it has coloured my character in a way that is less good. Because I am a teacher, I constantly, well, teach. This is not always good. In the lives of those I love I often forget that they do not need my instruction as much as they need my understanding and companionship.

In looking where others need to go I sometimes forget to remember how far they have come. This perspective, seeing how far others have already traveled is a gracious one. I must stand in the place where I can see where others need to go but with a constant eye on from whence they have come.

It is another great danger that I may forget how far I still have to go on my own journey. It is only in the light of Christ’s grace that I am able to be of use to anyone. When I forget from whence I came and how long the road is yet ahead of me pride settles upon me in drifts and I somehow imagine that I am of a stature that gives more grace that I need. In truth I may only give what is in turn given to me. Any good thing I do is because of Christ’s redemptive work already working within me.

So often others see a glimpse of Christ reflected by me in some small way and they wish to linger with me thinking that I am their guide. My lot is to point them down the road toward the true light which I have been honored to reflect. I am merely a wayside; a door warden who helps them discover the latch. It is their hand not mine that opens the door to the new path. Some may stay with me a bit to rest and heal, but it is their lot to travel onward to their own journey.

Anyone I teach; any good things I accomplish, any mercy I show, and any sound words I pen are only the outworking of Christ and his spirit. Through his broken vessel he is showing the world his redemptive work. It is my own pride that says “I am a writer.” It is my own vanity that thinks “I am a mentor.” My own ingratitude tells me that I may be anything other than warm wet clay in the hands of the caster. What form of vessel he makes of me is his choice; is it not? I do, however, know that my journey is his alone and I have far to go before I have kept the promises I made when he first called my name. So I journey on, reminded that I have far to go and responsibility to those whom I allow to follow me.

Wishing you joy in the journey,

Aramis Thorn